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THE 


CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH; 


OB, 


MAID,  WIFE,  AND  WIDOW. 


A  MATTER-OF-FACT  ROMANCE. 


By    CHARLES    READE. 


HOUSEHOLD    EDITION'. 


NEW  YORK: 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS, 

FRANKLIN      SQUARE. 


Though  the  opening  of  "  The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth  "  resem- 
bles a  former  story  by  the  same  author,  it  must  not  be  confounded  with  it. 
As  a  complete  work,  four  times  the  size,  it  incorporates  the  fragment  re- 
ferred to,  which,  with  an  altogether  different  denouement,  was  contributed 
to  "  Once  a  Week."  The  present  volume,  therefore,  while  beginning  with 
the  previous  book,  soon  changes  in  its  (*onstruction,  and  justifies  the  second 
title,  "Maid,  Wife,  and  Widow." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"T^TOT  a  day  passes  over  the  earth 
_i^^  but  men  and  women  of  no  note 
do  great  deeds,  speak  great  words, 
and  suft'er  noble  sorrows.  Of  these 
obscure  heroes,  philosophers,  and  mar- 
tyrs, the  greater  part  will  never  be 
known  till  that  hour  when  many  that 
were  great  shall  be  small,  and  the 
small  great ;  but  of  others  the  world's 
knowledge  may  be  said  to  sleep,  their 
lives  and  characters  lie  hidden  from 
nations  in  the  annals  that  record  them. 
The  general  reader  cannot  feel  them, 
they  are  presented  so  curtly  and  cold- 
ly;  they  aie  not  like  breathing  stories 
appealing  to  his  heart,  but  little  his- 
toric hailstones  striking  him  but  to 
glance  otT  his  bosom  ;  nor  can  he  un- 
derstand them,  for  epitomes  are  not 
narratives,  as  skeletons  are  not  hu- 
man figures. 

'I'hus  records  of  prime  truths  re- 
main a  dead  letter  to  plain  folk  ;  the 
writers  have  left  so  much  to  the  ima- 
gination, and  imagination  is  so  rare  a 
gift.  Here,  then,  the  writer  of  fiction 
may  be  of  use  to  the  pub'ic  —  as  an 
interpreter. 

There  is  a  musty  chronicle,  written 
in  tolerable  Latin,  and  in  it  a  chapter 
where  every  sentence  holds  a  fact. 
Here  is  told,  with  harsh  brevity,  the 
strange  history  of  a  pair,  who  lived  un- 
triimpeted,  and  died  unsung,  four  hun- 
dred years  ago  ;  and  lie  now  as  unpit- 
ied,  in  that  stern  page,  as  fossils  in  a 
rock.  Thus,  living  or  de:ul,  fate  is  still 
unjust  to  them.    Tor  if  I  can  but  show 


you  what  lies  below  that  dry  chroni- 
cler's words,  methinks  you  will  cor- 
rect the  inditference  of  centuries,  and 
give  those  two  sore  tried  souls  a  place 
in  your  heart  —  for  a  day. 

It  was  past  the  middle  of  the  fif- 
teenth century.  Louis  XL  was  sover- 
eign of  France  ;  Edward  IV.  was 
wrongful  King  of  England  ;  and  Phil- 
ip "  the  Good,"  having  by  force  and 
cunning  dispossessed  his  cousin  Jac- 
queline, and  broken  her  lieart,  reigned 
undisturbed  this  many  years  in  Hol- 
land, where  our  tale  begins. 

Elias,  and  Catherine  his  wife,  lived 
in  the  little  town  of  Tergou.  He 
traded,  wholesale  and  retail,  in  cloth, 
silk,  brown  holland,  and,  above  all,  in 
curried  leather,  a  material  highly  val- 
ued by  the  middling  people,  because 
it  would  stand  twenty  years'  wear, 
and  turn  an  ordinary  knife, —  no  small 
virtue  in  a  jerkin  of  that  century,  in 
which  folk  were  so  liberal  of  their 
steel.  Even  at  dinner  a  man  would 
leave  his  meat  awhile,  and  carve  you 
his  neighbor,  on  a  very  moderate  dif- 
ference of  opinion. 

The  couple  were  well  to  do,  and 
would  have  been  free  from  all  earthly 
care  but  for  nine  children.  When 
these  were  coming  into  the  world,  one 
per  annum,  each  was  hailed  with  re- 
joicings, and  the  saints  were  thanked, 
not  expostulated  with  ;  and  when 
parents  and  children  were  all  young 
together,  the  latter  were  looked  upon 
as  lovely  little  playthings  invented  by 
Heaven  for  tiie  amusement,  joy,  and 
evening  solace  of  people  in  business. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


But  as  the  olive-branches  shot  up, 
and  the  parents  grew  ohler,  and  saw 
with  their  own  eyes  the  fate  of  large 
families,  misgivings  and  care  mingled 
with  their  love.  They  belonged  to  a 
singularly  wise  and  provident  people ; 
in  Holland  reckless  parents  were  as 
rare  as  disobedient  children.  So  now, 
when  the  huge  loaf  came  in  on  a  gi- 
gantic trencher,  looking  like  a  fortress 
in  its  moat,  and,  the  tour  of  the  table 
once  made,  seemed  to  have  melted 
away,  Elias  and  Catherine  would  look 
at  one  another  and  say,  "  Who  is  to 
find  bread  for  them  all  when  we  are 
gone?  " 

At  this  observation  the  younger 
ones  needed  all  their  filial  respect  to 
keep  their  Dutch  countenances  ;  for 
in  their  opinion  dinner  and  supper 
came  by  nature  like  sunrise  and  sun- 
set ;  and,  so  long  as  that  luminary 
should  travel  round  the  earth,  so  long 
must  the  brown  loaf  go  round  their 
family  circle,  and  set  in  their  stomachs, 
only  to  rise  again  in  the  family  oven. 
But  the  remark  awakened  the  natural 
thoughtfulncss  of  the  elder  boys,  and, 
being  often  repeated,  set  several  of  the 
family  thinking,  some  of  them  good 
thoughts,  some  ill  thoughts,  accord- 
ing to  the  nature  of  the  thinkers. 

"  Kate,  the  children  grow  so,  this 
table  will  soon  be  too  small." 

"  We  cannot  afford  it,  Eli,"  replied 
Catherine,  answering  not  his  words, 
but  his  thought,  after  the  manner  of 
women. 

Their  anxiety  for  the  future  took  at 
times  a  less  dismal  but  more  mortify- 
ing turn.  The  free  burghers  had  their 
pride  as  well  as  the  nobles  ;  and  these 
two  could  not  bear  that  any  of  their 
blood  should  go  down  in  the  burgh 
alter  their  decease. 

So,  by  prudence  and  self-denial, 
they  managed  to  clothe  all  the  little 
bodies,  and  feed  all  the  great  mouths, 
and  yet  put  by  a  small  hoard  to  meet 
the  future  ;  and,  as  it  grew  and  grew, 
tliey  felt  a  pleasure  the  miser  hoarding 
for  himself  knows  not. 

One  day,  the  eldest  boy  but  one, 
aged  nineteen,  came  to  hjs  mother, 


and,  with  that  outward  composura 
which  has  so  misled  some  persons  as 
to  the  real  nature  of  this  people,  beg- 
ged her  to  intercede  with  his  father  to 
send  him  to  Amsterdam,  and  place 
him  with  a  merchant.  "  It  is  the  way 
of  life  that  likes  me;  merchants  are 
wealthy  ;  I  am  good  at  numbers  ; 
prithee,  good  mother,  take  my  part  in 
this,  and  I  shall  ever  be,  as  1  am  now, 
your  debtor." 

Catherine  threw  up  her  hands  with 
dismay  and  incredulity.  "  What, 
leave  Tergou !  " 

"  What  is  one  street  to  me  more 
than  another?  If  I  can  leave  the  folk 
of  Tergou,  I  can  surely  leave  the 
stones." 

"  What !  quit  your  poor  fother  now 
he  is  no  longer  young  ?  " 

"  Mother,  if  I  can  leave  you,  I  can 
leave  him." 

"  What,  leave  your  poor  brothers 
and  sisters,  that  love  you  so  dear  ?  " 

"  There  are  enough  in  the  house 
without  me." 

"  What  inciin  you,  Richart  ?  Who 
is  more  thought  of  than  you  ?  Stay, 
have  I  spoken  sharp  to  you  ?  Have  I 
been  unkind  to  you  ?  " 

"Never  that  I  know  of;  and  if  you 
had,  you  should  never  hear  of  it  from 
me.  Mother,"  said  Richart,  gravely, 
but  the  tear  was  in  his  eye,  "  it  all 
lies  in  a  word,  and  nothing  can 
change  my  mind.  There  will  be  one 
mouth  less  for  you  to  feed." 

"  There  now,  see  what  my  tongue 
has  done,"  said  Catherine,  and  the 
next  moment  she  began  to  cry.  For 
she  saw  her  first  young  bird  on  the 
edge  of  the  nest  trying  his  wings,  to 
fly  into  the  world.  Richart  had  a 
calm,  strong  will,  and  she  knew  he 
never  wasted  a  word. 

It  ended  as  nature  has  willed  all 
such  discourse  shall  end ;  young  Rich- 
art  went  to  Amsterdam  with  a  face 
so  long  and  sad  as  it  had  never  been 
seen  before,  and  a  heart  like  granite. 

That  afternoon  at  supper  there  was 
one  mouth  less.  Catherine  looked  at 
Richart's  chair  and  wept  bitterly.  On 
this  Elias  shouted  roughly  and  angri- 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


ly  to  the  children,  "  Sit  wider  !  can't 
yel  sit  wider!  "  and  turned  his  head 
away  over  the  back  of  his  seat  awhile 
and  was  silent. 

Richart  was  launched,  and  never 
cost  them  another  penny  :  but  to  fit 
him  out  and  place  him  in  the  house 
of  Vander  Stegen,  the  merchant,  took 
all  the  little  hoard  but  one  gold 
crown.  They  began  again.  Two 
years  passed.  Richart  found  a  niche 
in  commerce  for  his  brother  Jacob,  and 
Jacob  left  Tergou  directly  after  din- 
ner, which  was  at  eleven  in  the  fore- 
noon. At  supper  that  day  Elias  re- 
membered what  had  happened  the 
last  time  :  so  it  was  in  a  low  whisper 
he  said,  "  Sit  wider,  dears !  "  Now 
until  that  moment,  Catherine  would 
not  see  the  gap  at  table  ;  for  her 
daughter  Catherine  had  besought  her 
not  to  grieve  to-night,  and  she  had 
said,  "  No,  sweetheart,  I  promise  I 
will  not,  since  it  vexes  my  children." 
But  when  Elias  whispered  "  Sit  wid- 
er !  "  — says  she,  "  Ay,  the  table  will 
soon  be  too  big  for  the  children  ;  and 
you  thought  it  would  be  too  small "  : 
and  having  delivered  this  with  forced 
calmness,  she  put  up  her  apron  the 
next  moment,  and  wept  sore. 

"  'T  is  the  best  that  leave  us," 
sobbed  she ;  "  that  is  the  cruel  part." 

"  Nay,  nay  !  "  said  Elias  ;  "  our  chil- 
dren are  good  children,  and  all  are 
dear  to  us  alike.  Heed  her  not ! 
What  God  takes  from  us  still  seems 
better  than  what  he  spares  to  us  ;  that 
is  to  say,  men  are  by  nature  unthank- 
ful —  and  women  silly." 

"  And  I  say  Richart  and  Jacob 
were  the  flower  of  the  flock,"  sobbed 
Catherine. 

The  little  coffer  was  empty  again, 
and  to  fill  it  they  gathered  like  ants. 
In  those  days  speculation  was  pretty 
much  confined  to  the  card-and-dice 
business.  Elias  knew  no  way  to 
wealth  but  the  slow  and  sure  one. 
"  A  penny  saved  is  a  penny  gained," 
was  his  humble  creed.  All  that  was 
not  required  for  the  business  and  the 
necessaries  of  life  went  into  the  little 
ooffer  with  steel  bands  and  florid  key. 
1* 


They  denied  themselves  in  turn  the 
humblest  luxuries,  and  then,  catching 
one  another's  looks,  stnilcd ;  perhaps 
with  a  greater  joy  than  self-indulgence 
has  to  bestow.  And  so  in  three  years 
more  they  had  gleaned  enough  to  set 
up  their  fourth  son  as  a  master  tailor, 
and  their  eldest  daughter  as  a  robe- 
maker,  in  Tergou.  Here  were  two 
more  provided  for ;  tiieir  own  trade 
would  enable  them  to  throw  work  into 
the  hands  of  this  pair.  But  the  coffer 
was  drained  to  the  dregs,  and  this 
time  the  shop  too  bled  a  little  in  goods, 
if  not  in  coin. 

Alas  !  there  remained  on  hand  two 
that  were  unable  to  get  their  bread, 
and  two  that  were  unwilling.  The 
unable  ones  were,  1,  Giles,  a  dwarf, 
of  the  wrong  sort,  half  stupidity,  halt 
malice,  all  head  and  claws  and  voice, 
run  from  by  dogs  and  unprejudiced 
females,  and  sided  with  through  thick 
and  tiiin  by  his  mother ;  2,  Little 
Catherine,  a  poor  little  girl  that  could 
only  move  on  crutches.  She  lived  in 
pain,  but  smiled  through  it,  with  her 
marble  face  and  violet  eyes  and  long 
silky  lashes ;  and  fretful  or  repining 
word  never  came  from  her  lips.  The 
unwilling  ones  were  Sybrandt,  the 
youngest,  a  ne'er-do-weel,  too  much  in 
love  with  play  to  work,  and  Cornelis, 
the  eldest,  who  had  made  calculations, 
and  stuck  to  the  hearth.  Availing  for 
dead  men's  shoes.  Almost  worn  out 
by  their  repeated  efforts,  and  above  all 
dispirited  by  the  moral  and  physical 
infirmities  of  those  that  now  remained 
on  hand,  the  anxious  couple  would 
often  say,  "  What  will  become  of  all 
these  when  we  shall  be  no  longer  here 
to  take  care  of  them  ? "  But  when 
they  had  said  this  a  good  many  times, 
suddenly  the  domestic  horizon  cleared, 
and  then  they  used  still  to  say  it,  be- 
cause a  habit  is  a  habit ;  but  they  ut- 
tered it  half  mechanically  now,  and 
added  brightly  and  cheerfully,  "  But, 
thanks  to  St.  Bavon  and  all  the  saints, 
there's  Gerard." 

Young  Gerard  was  for  many  years 
of  his  life  a  son  apart  and  distinct, 


8 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


object  of  no  fears  and  no  great  hopes. 
No  fears ;  for  he  was  going  into  the 
Church ;  and  tlic  Church  could  always 
maintain  her  cliildren  by  hook  or  by 
crook  in  tliose  days  ;  no  great  hopes, 
be^'ausc  his  family  had  no  interest 
with  the  great  to  get  him  a  benefice, 
and  the  young  man's  own  hal)itswcre 
frivolous,  and,  indeed,  sucli  as  our 
cloth  merchant  would  not  have  put 
lip  with  in  any  one  but  a  clerk  that 
was  to  be.  His  trivialities  were  read- 
ing and  penmanship,  and  he  was  so 
wrapt  up  in  them  that  often  he  could 
hardly  be  got  away  to  his  meals.  The 
day  was  never  long  enough  for  him  : 
and  he  carried  ever  a  tinder-box  and 
brimstone  matches,  and  begged  ends 
of  candles  of  the  neighbors,  which  he 
liglitcd  at  unreasonable  hours,  —  ay, 
even  at  eight  of  the  clock  at  night  in 
winter,  when  the  very  burgomaster 
was  abed.  Endured  at  home,  his 
practices  were  encouraged  by  the 
monks  of  a  neighboring  convent. 
They  had  taught  him  penmanship, 
and  continued  to  teach  him,  until  one 
day  they  discovered,  in  the  middle  of 
a  lesson,  that  he  was  teaching  tlicm. 
They  pointed  this  out  to  him  in  a 
merry  way ;  he  hung  his  head  and 
blushed  :  he  had  suspected  as  much 
himself  but  mistrusted  his  judgment 
in  so  delicate  a  matter.  "  But,  my 
son,"  said  an  elderly  monk,  "  how  is 
it  that  you,  to  whom  God  has  given 
an  eye  so  true,  a  hand  so  subtle  yet 
firm,  and  a  heart  to  love  these  beauti- 
ful crafts,  how  is  it  you  do  not  color 
as  well  as  write  1  a  scroll  looks  but 
barren  unless  a  border  of  fruit,  and 
leaves,  and  rich  arabesques  surround 
the  good  words,  and  charm  the  sense 
as  those  do  the  soul  and  understand- 
ing ;  to  say  nothing  of  the  pictures 
of  holy  men  and  women  departed, 
with  which  the  several  chapters  should 
be  adorned,  and  not  alone  the  eye 
soothed  with  the  brave  and  sweetly 
blended  colors,  but  the  heart  lifted  by 
effigies  of  the  saints  in  glory.  An- 
swer me,  my  son." 

At  this  Gerard  was  confused,  and 
muttered  that  he  had  made  several 


trials  at  illuminating,  but  had  not 
succeeded  well ;  and  thus  the  matter 
rested . 

Soon  after  this  a  fellow-enthusiast 
came  on  the  scene  in  the  unwonted 
form  of  an  old  lady.  Margaret,  sister 
and  survivor  of  the  brothers  Van 
Eyck,  left  Flanders,  and  came  to  end 
her  days  in  her  native  country.  She 
bought  a  small  house  near  Tergou. 
In  course  of  time  she  heard  of  Gerard, 
and  saw  some  of  his  handiwork ;  it 
pleased  her  so  well  that  she  sent  her 
female  servant,  Richt  Heynes,  to  ask 
him  to  come  to  her.  This  led  to  an  ac- 
quaintance ;  it  could  hardly  be  other- 
wise, for  little  Tergou  had  never  held 
so  many  as  two  zealots  of  this  sort 
before.  At  first  the  old  lady  damped 
Gerard's  courage  terribly.  At  eacli 
visit  she  fished  out  of  holes  and  cor- 
ners drawings  and  paintings,  some 
of  them  by  her  own  band,  that  seemed 
to  him  unapproachable ;  but  if  the 
artist  overpowered  him,  the  woman 
kept  his  heart  up.  She  and  Richt 
soon  turned  him  inside  out,  like  a 
glove  ;  among  other  things,  tliey  drew 
from  him  what  the  good  monks  had 
failed  to  hit  upon,  the  reason  why  he 
did  not  illuminate,  viz.  that  he  could 
not  afford  the  gold,  tlic  blue,  and  the 
red,  but  only  the  cheap  earths;  and 
that  he  was  afraid  to  ask  his  mother 
to  buy  the  choice  colors,  and  was  sure 
he  should  ask  her  in  vain.  Then 
Margaret  Van  Eyck  gave  him  a  little 
brush-gold,  and  some  vermilion,  and 
ultramarine,  and  a  piece  of  good  vel- 
lum to  lay  them  on.  He  almost  ador- 
ed her.  As  he  left  the  house  Richt 
ran  after  him  with  a  candle  and  two 
quarters  ;  he  quite  kissed  her.  But 
better  even  than  the  gold  and  lapis- 
lazuli  to  the  illuminator  was  the  sym- 
pathy to  the  isolated  enthusiast.  That 
sympathy  was  always  ready,  and,  as 
he  returned  it,  an  affection  sprung  up 
between  the  old  painter  and  the  young 
caligrapher  that  was  doubly  charac- 
teristic of  the  time.  For  this  was  u 
century  in  which  the  fine  arts  and  the 
higher  mechanical  arts  were  not  sepa- 
rated by  any  distinct  boundary,  nol 


THE   CLOISTER  AND   THE  HEARTH. 


were  those  who  practised  them  ;  and 
it  was  an  age  in  which  artists  sought 
out  and  loved  one  another.  Should 
this  last  statement  stagger  a  painter 
or  writer  of  our  day,  let  me  remind 
him  that  even  Christians  loved  one 
another  at  first  starting. 

Backed  by  an  acquaintance  so  ven- 
erable, and  strengthened  by  female 
sympathy,  Gerard  advanced  in  learn- 
ing and  skill.  His  spirits,  too,  rose 
risibly.  He  still  looked  behind  him 
when  dragged  to  dinner  in  the  middle 
of  an  initial  G,  but  once  seated  showed 
great  social  qualities  :  likewise  a  gay 
humor  that  had  hitherto  but  peeped 
in  him,  shone  out,  and  ofieii  he  set  the 
table  in  a  roar,  and  kept  it  there, 
sometimes  with  his  own  wit,  some- 
times with  jests  which  were  glossy  new 
to  his  family,  being  drawn  from  an- 
tiquity. 

As  a  return  for  all  he  owed  his 
friends  the  monks,  he  made  them  ex- 
quisite copies  from  two  of  their  choicest 
MSS.  viz.  the  life  of  their  founder, 
and  their  Comedies  of  Terence,  the 
monastery  finding  the  vellum. 

The  high  and  puissant  Prince,  Philip 
"  tlie  Good,"  Duke  of  Burgundy, 
Luxemburg,  and  Brabant,  Earl  of 
Holland  and  Zealand,  Lord  of  Fries- 
land,  Count  of  Flanders,  Artois,  and 
Hainault,  Lord  of  Salins  and  Macklyn, 
—  was  versatile. 

He  could  fight  as  well  as  any  king 
going ;  and  he  could  lie  as  well  as 
any,  except  the  King  of  France.  "He 
was  a  mighty  hunter,  and  could  read 
and  write.  His  tastes  were  wide  and 
ardent.  He  loved  jewels  like  a  woman, 
and  gorgeous  apparel.  He  dearly 
loved  maids  of  honor,  and  indeed 
paintings  generally ;  in  proof  of  which 
he  ennobled  Jan  Van  Eyck.  He  had 
also  a  rage  for  giants,  dwarfs,  and 
Turks.  These  last  stood  ever  planted 
about  him,  turbaned,  and  blazing  with 
jewels.  His  agents  inveigled  them 
from  Istamboul  with  fair  promises ; 
but,  the  moment  he  had  got  them,  he 
baptized  them  by  brute  force  in  a  large 
tub  ;  and,  this  done,  let  them  squat 
with  their  faces  towards  Mecca,  and 


invoke  Mahound  as  much  as  they 
pleased,  laughing  in  his  sleeve  at  their 
simplicity  in  fancying  they  were  still 
infidels.  He  had  lions  in  cages,  and 
fleet  leopards  trained  by  Orientals  to 
run  down  hares  and  deer.  In  short, 
he  relished  all  rarities,  except  the 
humdrum  virtues.  For  anything  sin- 
gularly pretty  or  diabolically  ugly, 
this  was  your  customer.  The  best  of 
him  was,  he  was  open-handed  to  the 
poor ;  and  the  next  best  was,  he  fos- 
tered the  arts  in  earnest :  whereof  he 
now  gave  a  signal  proof.  He  offered 
prizes  for  the  best  specimens  of  "  or- 
f evrerie  "  in  two  kinds,  religious  and 
secular ;  item,  for  the  best  paintings  in 
white  of  egg,  oils,  and  tempera ;  these 
to  be  on  panel,  silk,  or  metal,  as  the 
artists  chose  :  item,  for  the  best  trans- 
parent painting  on  glass  :  item,  for  the 
best  illuminating  and  border-painting 
on  vellum ;  item,  for  the  fairest  writing 
on  vellum.  The  burgomasters  of  the 
several  towns  were  commanded  to  aid 
all  the  poorer  competitors  by  receiv- 
ing their  specimens  and  sending  them 
with  due  care  to  Rotterdam  at  the  ex- 
pense of  their  several  burghs.  When 
this  was  cried  by  the  bellman  through 
the  streets  of  Tergou,  a  thousand 
mouths  opened,  and  one  heart  beat,  — 
Gerard's.  He  told  his  family  timidly 
he  should  try  for  two  of  those  prizes. 
They  stared  in  silence,  for  their  breath 
was  gone  at  his  audacity ;  but  one 
horrid  laugh  exploded  on  the  floor 
like  a  petard.  Gerard  looked  down, 
and  there  was  the  dwarf,  slit  and 
fanged  from  ear  to  ear  at  his  expense, 
and  laughing  like  a  lion.  Nature,  re- 
lenting at  having  made  Giles  so  small, 
had  given  him  as  a  set-off"  the  biggest 
voice  on  record.  His  very  whisper 
was  a  bassoon.  He  was  like  those 
stunted,  wide-mouthed  pieces  of  ord- 
nance we  see  on  fortifications,  more 
like  a  flower-pot  than  a  cannon  ;  but, 
ods  tympana,  how  they  bellow  ! 

Gerard  turned  red  with  anger,  the 
more  so  as  the  others  began  to  titter. 
Wiiite  Catherine  saw,  and  a  pink  tinge 
came  on  her  cheek.  She  said  softly, 
"  Why  do  you  laugh  "*.    Is  it  because 


10 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


he  is  onr  brother  you  think  ho  cannot 
be  capable?  Yes,  Gerard,  try  -with 
the  rest.  Many  say  you  are  skilful ; 
and  mother  and  I  will  pray  the  Virgin 
to  guide  your  hand." 

"  Thank  you,  little  Kate.  You 
shall  pray  to  Our  Lady,  and  our  moth- 
er shall  buy  me  vellum  and  the  colors 
to  illuminate  with." 

"  What  will  they  cost,  my  lad  ?  " 

"  Two  gold  crowns  "  (about  three 
shillings  and  fourpence  English 
money ) . 

"  What  1  "  screamed  the  house- 
wife ;  "  when  the  bushel  of  rye  costs 
but  a  groat !  What !  me  spend  a 
month's  meal  and  meat  and  fire  on 
such  vanity  as  that ;  the  lightning 
from  Heaven  would  fall  on  me,  and 
my  children  would  all  be  beggars." 

"  Mother  !  "  sighed  little  Catherine, 
imploringly. 

"  O,  it  is  in  vain,  Kate,"  said 
Gerard,  with  a  sigh.  "  I  shall  have 
to  give  it  up,  or  ask  the  dame  Van 
Eyck.  She  would  give  it  me,  but  I 
think  shame  to  be  forever  taking 
from  her." 

"  It  is  not  her  affair,"  said  Cathe- 
rine, very  sharply ;  "  what  has  she  to 
do  coming  between  me  and  my  son  ?  " 
And  she  left  the  room  with  a  red  face. 
Little  Catherine  smiled.  Presently 
the  housewife  returned  with  a  gra- 
cious, affectionate  air,  and  two  little 
gold  pieces  in  her  hand. 

"  There,  sweetheart,"  said  she, 
"  you  won't  have  to  trouble  dame  or 
demoiselle  for  two  paltry  crowns." 

But  on  this  Gerard  fell  a  thinking 
how  he  could  spare  her  purse. 

"  One  will  do,  mother.  I  will  ask 
the  good  monks  to  let  me  send  my 
copy  of  their  '  Terence ' ;  it  is  on 
snowy  vellum,  and  I  can  write  no 
better  :  so  then  I  shall  only  need  six 
sheets  of  vellum  for  my  borders  and 
miniatures,  and  gold  for  my  ground, 
and  prime  colors,  —  one  crown  will 
do." 

"  Never  tyne  the  ship  for  want  of  a 
bit  of  tar,  Gerard,"  said  this  change- 
able mother.  But  she  added,  "  Well, 
there,   I  will  put  the  crown  in  my 


pocket.  That  won't  be  like  putting 
it  back  in  the  box.  Going  to  the  box 
to  take  out  instead  of  putting  in,  it  is 
like  going  to  my  heart  with  a  knife  for 
so  many  drops  of  blood.  You  will  be 
sure  to  want  it,  Gerard.  The  house 
is  never  built  for  less  than  the  builder 
counted  on." 

Sure  enough,  when  the  time  came, 
Gerard  longed  to  go  to  Kotterdam  and 
sec  the  duke,  and  above  all  to  see  the 
work  of  his  competitors,  and  so  get  a 
lesson  from  defeat.  And  the  crown 
came  out  of  thehousewife's  pocket  with 
a  very  good  grace.  Gerard  would 
soon  be  a  priest.  It  seemed  hard  if 
he  might  not  enjoy  the  world  a  little 
before  separating  himself  from  it  for 
life. 

The  night  before  he  went,  Margaret 
Van  Eyck  asked  him  to  take  a  letter 
for  her  ;  and  when  he  came  to  look  at 
it,  to  his  surprise  he  found  it  was  ad- 
dressed to  the  Princess  Marie,  at  the 
Stadthouse,  in  Rotterdam. 

The  day  before  the  prizes  were  to 
be  distributed,  Gerard  started  for 
Rotterdam  in  his  holiday  suit,  to  wit, 
a  doublet  of  silver-gray  cloth  with 
sleeves,  and  a  jerkin  of  the  same  over 
it,  but  without  sleeves.  From  his 
waist  to  his  heels  he  was  clad  in  a  pair 
of  tight-fitting  buckskin  hose,  fastened 
by  laces  (called  points)  to  his  doublet. 
His  shoes  were  pointed,  in  moderation, 
and  secured  by  a  strap  that  passed 
under  the  hollow  of  the  foot.  On  his 
h^d  and  the  back  of  his  neck  he  wore 
his  flowing  hair,  and  pinned  to  his 
back  between  his  shoulders  was  his 
hat,  it  was  further  secured  by  a  pur- 
ple silk  ribbon  little  Kate  had  passed 
round  him  from  the  sides  of  the  hat, 
and  knotted  neatly  on  his  breast ;  be- 
low his  hat,  attached  to  the  upper  rim 
of  his  broad  waist-belt,  was  his  leath- 
ern wallet.  When  he  got  within  a 
league  of  Rotterdam  he  was  pretty 
tired,  but  he  soon  fell  in  with  a  pair 
that  were  more  so.  He  found  an  old 
man  sitting  by  the  roadside  quite  worn 
out,  and  a  comely  young  woman  hold- 
ing his  hand,  with  a  face  brimful  of 
concern.  The  country  people  trudged 


THE  CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


11 


by  and  noticed  nothings  amiss ;  but 
Gerard,  as  he  passed,  drew  conclu- 
sions. Even  dress  tells  a  tale  to  those 
who  study  it  so  closely  as  he  did,  being 
an  illuminator.  The  old  man  wore  a 
gown,  and  a  fur  tippet,  and  a  velvet 
cap,  sure  signs  of  dignity ;  but  the 
triangular  purse  at  his  girdle  was 
lean,  the  gown  iiisty,  the  fur  worn, 
sure  signs  of  poverty.  The  young 
woman  was  dressed  in  plain  russet 
cloth ;  yet  snow-white  lawn  covered 
that  part  of  her  neck  the  gown  left 
visible,  and  ended  half-way  up  her 
white  throat  in  a  little  band  of  gold 
embroidery.  And  her  head-dress  was 
new  to  Gerard  ;  instead  of  hiding  her 
hair  in  a  pile  of  linen  or  lawn,  she 
wore  an  open  network  of  silver  cord 
with  silver  spangles  at  the  interstices ; 
in  this  her  glossy  auburn  hair  was 
rolled  in  front  into  solid  waves,  and 
supported  behind  a  luxurious  and 
shapely  mass.  His  quick  eye  took  in 
all  this,  and  the  old  man's  pallor,  and 
the  tear  in  the  young  woman's  eyes. 
So  when  he  passed  them  a  few  yards, 
he  reflected,  and  turned  back,  and 
came  towards  them  bashfully. 

"  Father,  I  fear  you  are  tired." 

"  Indeed,  my  son,  I  am,"  replied 
the  old  man ;  "  and  faint  for  lack  of 
food." 

Gerard's  address  did  not  appear  so 
agreeable  to  the  girl  as  to  the  old 
man.  She  seemed  ashamed,  and  with 
much  resen^e  in  her  manner  said  that 
it  was  her  fault ;  she  had  underrated 
the  distance,  and  imprudently  allowed 
her  father  to  start  too  late  in  the  day. 

"  No,  no  !  "  said  the  old  man  ;  "  it 
is  not  the  distance,  it  is  the  want  of 
nourishment." 

The  girl  put  her  arms  round  his 
neck  with  tender  concern,  but  took 
that  opportunity  of  whispering,  "  Fa- 
ther, a  stranger,  —  a  young  man  !  " 

But  it  was  too  late.  Gerard,  with 
simplicity,  and  quite  as  a  matter  of 
course,  fell  to  gathering  sticks  with 
great  expedition.  This  done,  he  took 
down  his  wallet,  out  with  the  manchet 
of  bread  and  the  iron  flask  his  care- 
ful mother  had  put  up,  and  his  ei^er- 


lasting  tinder-box ;  lighted  a  match, 
then  a  candle-end,  then  the  sticks; 
and  put  his  iron  flask  on  it.  Then 
down  he  went  on  his  stomach  and 
took  a  good  blow  ;  then,  looking  up, 
he  saw  the  girl's  face  had  thawed,  and 
she  was  looking  down  at  him  and  his 
energy  with  a  demure  smile.  He 
laughed  back  to  her  :  "  Mind  the  pot," 
said  he,  "  and  don't  let  it  spill,  for 
Heaven's  sake  :  there 's  a  cleft  stick  to 
hold  it  safe  with  " ;  and  with  this  he  set 
off  running  towards  a  cornfield  at 
some  distance. 

Whilst  he  was  gone,  there  came  by, 
on  a  mule  with  rich  purple  housings, 
an  old  man  redolent  of  wealth.     The 

fiurse  at  his  girdle  was  plethoric,  the 
ur  on  his  tippet  was  ermine,  broad 
and  new. 

It  was  Ghysbrecht  Van  Swieten, 
the  burgomaster  of  Tergou.  He  was 
old,  and  his  face  furrowed.  He  was  a 
notorious  miser,  and  looked  one  gen- 
erally. IJut  the  idea  of  supping  with 
the  duke  raised  him  just  now  into 
manifest  complacency.  Yet  at  the  sight 
of  the  Aided  old  man  and  his  bright 
daughter  sitting  by  a  fire  of  sticks 
the  smile  died  out  of  his  face,  and  he 
wore  a  strange  look  of  pain  and  un- 
easiness. He  reined  in  his  mule. 
"  Why,  Peter,  —  Margaret  —  "  said 
he  almost  fiercely,  "  what  mummery  is 
this  ?  "  Peter  was  going  to  answer, 
but  Margaret  interposed  hastily,  and 
said  :  "  My  father  was  exhausted,  so 
I  am  warming  something  to  give  him 
strength  before  we  go  on."  "  What, 
reduced  to  feed  by  the  roadside  like 
the  Bohemians,"  said  Ghysbrecht, 
and  his  hand  went  into  his  purse ;  but 
it  did  not  seem  at  home  there  ;  it  fum- 
bled uncertainly,  afraid  too  large  a  coin 
might  stick  to  a  finger  and  come  out. 
At  this  moment  who  should  come 
bounding  up  but  Gerard.  He  had 
two  straws  in  his  hand,  and  he  threw 
himself  down  by  the  fire,  and  relieved 
Margaret  of  the  cooking  part ;  then, 
suddenly  recognizing  the  burgomas- 
ter, he  colored  all  over.  Ghysbrecht 
Van  S\vieten  started  and  glared  at 
him,  and  took  his  hand  out  of  hia 


12 


THE   CLOISTKR   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


purse.  "O,"  said  he,  bitterly,  "I 
am  not  wanted  " ;  and  went  slowly 
on,  casting  a  long;  look  of  suspicion 
on  Margaret,  and  hostility  on  Gerard, 
that  was  not  very  intelligible.  How- 
ever, there  was  something  about  it 
that  Margaret  could  read  enough  to 
blush  at,  and  almost  toss  her  head. 
Gerard  only  stared  with  surprise. 
"  By  St.  Bavon !  I  think  the  old 
miser  grudges  us  three  our  (juart  of 
soup,"  said  he.  When  the  young 
man  put  that  interpretation  upon 
Ghysbrecht's  strange  and  meaning 
look,  Margaret  was  greatly  relieved, 
and  smiled  gayly  on  the  speaker. 

Meantime  Ghysbrecht  j)lodded  on, 
more  wretched  in  his  wealth  than 
these  in  their  poverty.  And  the 
curious  thing  is  that  the  mule,  the 
purple  housings,  and  one  half  the 
coin  in  that  plethoric  purse,  belonged 
not  to  Ghysbrecht  Van  Swieten,  but 
to  that  faded  old  man  and  that  come- 
ly girl,  who  sat  by  a  roadside  fire  to 
be  fed  by  a  stranger.  They  did  not 
know  this,  but  Ghysbrecht  knew  it, 
and  carried  in  his  heart  a  scorpion 
of  his  own  begetting.  That  scorpion 
is  remorse ;  the  remorse  that,  not 
being  penitence,  is  incurable,  and 
ready  for  fresh  misdeeds  upon  a  fresh 
temptation. 

Twenty  years  ago,  when  Ghysbrecht 
Van  Swieten  was  a  hard  and  honest 
man,  the  touchstone  opportunity 
came  to  him,  and  he  did  an  act  of 
heartless  rogueiy.  It  seemed  a  safe 
one.  It  had  hitherto  proved  a  safe 
one,  though  he  had  never  felt  safe. 
To-day  he  had  seen  youth,  enterprise, 
and,  above  all,  knowledge,  seated  by 
fair  Margaret  and  her  father,  on  term's 
that  looked  familiar  and  loving. 

And  the  fiends  are  at  his  ear 
again. 


CHAPTER   II. 

"  The  soup  is  hot,"  said  Gerard. 

"But  how  are  we  to  get  it  to  our 
mouths '(  "  inquired  the  senior,  de- 
spondingly. 


"  Father,  the  j'oung  man  has 
brought  us  straws."  And  Margaret 
smiled  slyly. 

"  Ay,  ay  ! "  said  the  old  man  :  "but 
my  poor  bones  are  stiff,  and  indeed  the 
fire  is  too  hot  for  a  body  to  kneel  over 
with  these  short  straws.  St.  John 
the  Baptist,  but  the  young  man  is 
adroit !  ^' 

For  while  he  stated  his  difhculty, 
Gerard  removed  it.  He  untied  in  a 
moment  the  knot  on  his  breast,  took 
his  hat  off,  put  a  stone  into  each 
corner  of  it,  then,  wrapping  his  hand 
in  the  tail  of  his  jerkin,  whipped  the 
flask  off"  the  fire,  wedged  it  between 
the  stones,  and  put  the  hat  under  the 
old  man's  nose  with  a  merry  smile. 
The  other  tremulously  inserted  the 
})ipe  of  rye-straw  and  sucked.  Lo 
and  behold,  his  wan,  drawn  face  was 
seen  to  light  up  more  and  more  till  it 
quite  glowed ;  and,  as  soon  as  he  had 
drawn  a  long  breath  :  — 

"  Hippocrates  and  Galen  ! "  ho 
cried,  "  't  is  a  soupe  au  vin, —  the  re- 
storative of  restoratives.  Blessed  be 
the  nation  that  invented  it,  and  the 
woman  that  made  it,  and  the  yoimg 
man  who  brings  it  to  fainting 
folk.  Have  a  suck,  my  girl,  while  I 
relate  to  our  young  host  the  history 
and  virtues  of  this  his  sovereign  com- 
pound- This  corroborative,  young 
sir,  v.as  unknown  to  the  ancients  ; 
we  find  it  neither  in  their  treatises  of 
medicine,  nor  in  those  popular  nar- 
ratives which  reveal  many  of  their 
remedies,  both  in  chinirgery  and 
medicine  proper.  Hector,  in  the 
Ilias,  if  my  memory  does  not  play  me 
false,  —  " 

Margaret:  "Alas!  he's  off." 

" —  was  invited  by  one  of  the 
ladies  of  the  poem  to  drink  a  draught 
of  wine ;  but  he  declined,  on  the  plea 
that  he  was  going  into  battle,  and 
must  not  take  aught  to  weaken  his 
powers.  Now,  if  the  '  soupe  au  vin  ' 
had  been  known  in  Troy,  it  is  clear 
that,  in  declining  '  vinnm  merum '  up- 
on that  score,  he  would  have  added 
in  the  next  hexameter,  'But  a  "soupe 
au  vin,"  madam,  I  will  degust,  and 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


13 


gratefully.'  Not  only  would  this 
have  been  but  common  civility,  —  a 
virtue  no  perfect  commander  is  want- 
inf^  in,  —  hut  not  to  have  done  it 
would  have  proved  him  a  shallow  and 
improvident  person,  unfit  to  be  trusted 
with  the  conduct  of  a  war  ;  for  men 
going  into  a  battle  need  sustenance, 
and  all  possible  support,  as  is  proved 
by  this,  that  foolish  generals,  bring- 
ing hungry  soldiers  to  blows  with 
full  ones,  have  been  defeated,  in  all 
ages,  by  inferior  numbers.  The  Ro- 
mans lost  a  great  battle  in  the  north 
of  Italy  to  Hannibal,  the  Carthagin- 
ian, by  this  neglect  alone.  Now,  this 
divine  elixir  gives  in  one  moment 
force  to  the  limbs  and  ardor  to  the 
spirits ;  and,  taken  into  Hector's 
body  at  the  nick  of  time,  would,  by 
the  aid  of  Pha-bus,  Venus,  and  the 
blessed  saints,  have  most  likely  pro- 
cured the  Greeks  a  defeat.  For,  note 
how  faint  and  weary  and  heart-sick  I 
was  a  minute  ago  ;  well,  I  suck  tliis 
celestial  cordial,  and  now  behold  me 
brave  as  Achilles  and  strong  as  an 
eagle." 

"  O  father,  now  ?  an  eagle  ;  alack !  " 

"Girl,  I  defy  thee,  and  all  the 
world.  Ready,  I  say,  like  a  foaming 
charger,  to  devour  the  space  between 
this  and  Rotterdam,  and  strong  to 
combat  the  ills  of  life,  even  poverty 
and  old  age,  which  last  philosophers 
have  called  '  summum  malum.'  Ne- 
satur  ;  unless  the  man's  life  has  been 
ill  spent,  —  which,  by  the  by,  it 
generally  has.    Now  for  the  modems." 

"  Father  !  dear  father  ! " 

"  Fear  mc  not,  girl,  I  will  be  brief, 
unreasonably  and  unseasonably  brief 
The  '  soupe  au  vin '  occurs  not  in 
modern  science  ;  but  this  is  only  one 
proof  more,  if  proof  were  needed, 
that  for  the  last  few  hundred  years 
physicians  hiive  been  idiots  with  their 
chicken  broth  and  their  decoction  of 
gold,  whereby  they  attribute  the 
highest  qtuilit'ies  to  that  meat  which 
has  the  least  juice  of  any  moat,  and 
to  that  metal  which  has  less  chemical 
qualities  than  all  the  metals;  mounte- 
l)anks !   dunces  !    homicides  !     Since, 


then,  from  these  no  light  is  to  b* 
gathered,  go  we  to  the  chroniclers  •, 
and  first  we  find  that  Duguesclin,  a 
French  kni<;ht,  being  about  to  join 
battle  with  the  English,  — masters,  at 
that  time  of  half  France,  and  sturdy 
.strikers  by  sea  and  land, — drank, 
not  one,  but  three,  '  soupes  au  vin ' 
in  honor  of  the  Blessed  Trinity. 
This  done,  he  charged  the  islanders ; 
and  as  might  have  been  foretold,  killed 
a  multitude,  and  drove  the  rest  into  the 
sea.  But  he  was  only  the  first  of  a 
long  list  of  holy  and  hard-hitting 
ones  who  have,  by  this  divine  restor- 
ative, been  sustentated,  fortified,  cor- 
roborated, and  consoled." 

"  Dear  father,  prithee  add  thyself 
to  that  venerable  company  ere  the 
soup  cools."  And  Margaret  held  the 
hat  imploringly  in  both  hands  till  he 
inserted  the  straw  once  more. 

This  spared  them  the  "  modem  in- 
stances," and  gave  Gerard  an  ojiportu- 
nity  of  telling  Margaret  how  proud 
his  mother  would  be  her  soup  had 
profited  a  man  of  leaming. 

"  Ay  !  but,"  said  Margaret,  "  it 
would  like  her  ill  to  see  her  son  give 
all  and  take  none  himself.  Why 
brought  you  but  two  straws  1  " 

"  Fair  mistress,  I  hoped  you  would 
let  me  put  my  lips  to  your  straw, 
there  being  but  two." 

Margaret  smiled  and  blushed. 
"  Never  beg  that  you  may  command," 
said  she.  "  The  straw  is  not  mine, 
't  is  vours  :  you  cut  it  in  yonder  field." 

"  1  cut  it,  and  that  made  it  mine  ; 
but  after  that  your  lip  touched  it,  and 
that  made  it  yours." 

"  Did  it  ?  "  Then  I  ^vill  lend  it  you. 
There,  —  now  it  is  yours  again  :  your 
lip  has  touched  it." 

"  No,  it  belongs  to  us  both  now. 
Let  us  di\ide  it." 

"  By  all  means  ;  you  have  a  knife." 

"  No,  I  will  not  cut  it,  —  that  would 
be  unlucky.  I'll  bite  it.  There  J 
shall  keep  my  half;  you  will  burn 
yours,  once  you  get  home,  I  doubt." 

"  You  know  me  not.  I  waste  noth' 
ing.  It  is  odds  but  I  make  a  hair-pin 
of  it,  or  something.*' 


14 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


This  answer  dashed  the  novice  Ger- 
ard, instead  of  provok.in<;  him  to  fresii 
efforts,  and  he  was  silent.  And  now, 
the  bread  and  soup  being  disposed  of, 
the  old  scholar  prepared  to  continue 
his  journey.  Then  came  a  little  ditH- 
eulty :  Gerard,  the  adroit,  could  not 
tie  his  ribbon  again  as  Catherine  had 
tixl  it.  Margaret,  after  slyly  eying 
liis  efforts  for  some  time,  offered  to 
help  him  ;  for  at  her  age  girls  love  to 
be  coy  and  tender,  saucy  and  gentle, 
liy  turns,  and  she  saw  she  had  put 
him  out  of  countenance  but  now. 
Then  a  fair  head,  with  its  stately 
crown  of  auburn  hair,  glossy  and 
glowing  through  silver,  bowed  sweetly 
towards  him ;  and,  while  it  ravished 
his  eye,  two  white  supple  hands  played 
delicately  upon  the  stubborn  ribbon, 
and  moulded  it  with  soft  and  airy 
touches.  Then  a  heavenly  thrill  ran 
through  the  innocent  young  man,  and 
vague  glimpses  of  a  new  world  of 
feeling  and  sentiment  opened  on  him. 
And  these  new  and  exquisite  sen- 
sations Margaret  unwittingly  pro- 
longed ;  it  is  not  natural  to  her  sex  to 
hurry  aught  that  pertains  to  the  sacred 
toilet.  Nay,  when  the  taper  fingers 
had  at  last  subjugated  the  ends  of  the 
knot,  her  mind  was  not  quite  easy, 
till,  by  a  manauvre  peculiar  to  the  fe- 
male hand,  she  had  made  her  palm 
convex,  and  so  applied  it  with  a  gen- 
tle pressure  to  the  centre  of  the  knot, 
—  a  sweet  little  coaxing  hand-kiss,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  Now  be  a  good 
knot  and  stay  so."  The  palm-kiss 
was  bestowed  on  the  ribbon,  but  the 
wearer's  heart  leaped  to  meet  it. 

"  There,  that  is  how  it  was,"  said 
Margaret,  and  drew  back  to  take  one 
last  keen  survey  of  her  work ;  then, 
looking  up  for  simple  approval  of  her 
skill,  received  full  in  her  eyes  a  long- 
ing gaze  of  such  ardent  adoration  as 
made  her  lower  them  quickly  and  color 
all  over.  An  indescribable  tremor 
seized  her,  and  she  retreated  with 
downcast  lashes  and  telltale  cheeks, 
and  took  her  fatlier's  arm  on  the  op- 
posite side.  Gerard,  blushing  at  hav- 
ing scared  her  away  with  his  eyes. 


took  the  other  arm ;  and  so  tho  two 
young  things  went  downcast  and  con- 
scious, and  propped  the  eagle  along  in 
silence. 

They  entered  Rotterdam  by  the 
Schiedamze  Poort ;  and,  as  Gerard 
was  unacquainted  with  the  town,  Pe- 
ter directed  him  the  way  to  the  Hooch 
Straet,  in  which  the  Stadthouse  was. 
He  himself  was  going  with  Margaret 
to  his  cousin,  in  the  Ooster  Waagcn 
Straet,  so,  almost  on  entering  the 
gate,  their  roads  lay  apart.  They 
bade  each  other  a  friendly  adieu,  and 
Gerard  dived  into  the  great  town.  A 
profound  sense  of  solitude  fell  npon 
him,  yet  the  streets  were  crowded. 
Then  he  lamented  too  late,  that,  out 
of  delicacy,  he  had  not  asked  his  late 
companions  who  they  were  and  where 
they  lived. 

"  Heshrew  my  shamefacedness  !  " 
said  be.  "  But  their  words  and  their 
breeding  were  above  their  means,  and 
something  did  whisper  me  they  would 
not  be  known.  I  shall  never  see  her 
more.  O  weary  world,  I  hate  you 
and  your  ways.  To  think  1  must 
meet  beauty  and  goodness  and  learn- 
ing,—  three  pearls  of  price,  —  and 
never  see  them  more !  " 

Falling  into  this  sad  rcvery,  and 
letting  his  body  go  where  it  would,  he 
lost  his  way ;  but  presently  meeting  a 
crowd  of  persons  all  moving  in  ono 
direction,  he  mingled  with  them,  for 
he  argued  they  must  be  making  for 
the  Stadthouse.  Soon  the  noisy  troop 
that  contained  the  moody  Gerard 
emerged,  not  npon  the  Stadthouse, 
but  upon  a  large  meadow  by  the  side 
of  the  Maas  ;  and  then  the  attraction 
was  revealed.  Games  of  all  sorts 
were  going  on ;  wrestling,  the  game 
of  palm,  the  quintain,  legerdemain, 
archery,  tumbling, — in  which  art,  I 
blush  to  say,  women  as  well  as  men 
performed,  to  the  great  delectation  of 
the  company.  There  was  also  a 
trained  bear,  who  stood  on  his  head, 
and  marched  upright,  and  bowed  with 
prodigious  gravity  to  his  master  ;  and 
a  hare  that  beat  a  drum,  and  a  cock 
that  strutted  on  little  stilts  disdain 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


15 


full/.  These  things  made  Gerard 
laugh  now  and  then ;  but  the  gay 
scene  could  not  really  enliven  it,  for 
his  heart  was  not  in  tune  with  it. 
So,  hearing  a  young  man  say  to  his 
fellow  that  the  duke  had  been  in  the 
meadow,  but  was  gone  to  the  Stadt- 
house  to  entertain  the  burgomasters 
and  aldermen  and  the  competitors  for 
the  prizes,  and  their  friends,  he  sud- 
denly remembered  he  was  hungry, 
and  should  like  to  sup  with  a  prince. 
He  left  the  river-side,  and  this  time  he 
found  the  Hooch  Straet,  and  it 
speedily  led  him  to  the  Stadthouse. 
But  when  he  got  there  he  was  refused, 
first  at  one  door,  then  at  another,  till 
he  came  to  the  great  gate  of  the  court- 
yard. It  was  kept  by  soldiers,  and 
superintended  by  a  pompous  major- 
domo,  glittering  in  an  embroidered 
collar  and  a  gold  chain  of  office,  and 
holding  a  white  staff  with  a  gold 
knob.  There  was  a  crowd  of  persons 
at  the  gate  endeavoring  to  soften  this 
official  rock.  They  came  up  in  turn 
like  ripples,  and  retired  as  such  in 
turn.  It  cost  Gerard  a  struggle  to 
get  near  him,  and  when  he  wiis  with- 
in four  heads  of  the  gate,  he  saw 
something  that  made  his  heart  beat : 
there  was  Peter,  with  Margaret  on 
his  arm,  soliciting  humbly  for  en- 
trance. 

"  My  cousin  the  alderman  is  not  at 
home.     They  say  he  is  here." 

"  What  is  that  to  me,  old  man  ?  " 

"  If  you  will  not  let  us  pass  in  to 
him,  at  least  take  this  leaf  from  my 
tablet  to  my  cousin.  See  I  have  writ- 
ten his  name;  he  will  come  out  to 
us." 

"  For  what  do  you  take  me  ?  I 
carry  no  messages.    I  keep  the  gate." 

He  then  bawled,  in  a  stentorian 
voice,  inexorably :  — 

"No  strangers  enter  here  but  the 
competitors  and  their  companies." 

"  Come,  old  man,"  cried  a  voice  in 
the  crowd,  "  you  have  gotten  your 
answer ;  make  way." 

Margaret  turned  half  round  im- 
ploringly :  — 

"  Good  people,  we  are  come  from 


far,  and  my  father  is  old ;  and  my 
cousin  has  a  new  servant  that  knows 
us  not,  and  would  not  let  us  sit  in 
our  cousin's  house." 

At  this  the  crowd  laughed  hoarse- 
ly. Margaret  shrank  as  if  they  had 
struck  her.  At  that  moment  a  hand 
grasped  hers,  —  a  magic  grasp ;  it  felt 
like  heart  meeting  heart,  or  magnet 
steel.  She  turned  quickly  round  at 
it,  and  it  was  Gerard.  Such  a  little 
cry  of  joy  and  appeal  came  from  her 
bosom,  and  she  began  to  whimper 
prettily. 

They  had  hustled  her  and  fright- 
ened her  for  one  thing ;  and  her  cous- 
in's thoughtlessness  in  not  even  tell- 
ing his  servant  they  were  coming 
was  cruel ;  and  the  servant's  caution, 
however  wise  and  faithful  to  her  mas- 
ter, was  bitterly  mortifying  to  her 
father  and  her.  And  to  her  so  mor- 
tified, and  anxious,  and  jostled,  came 
suddenly  this  kind  hand  and  face.  — 
"  Hine  illse  lacrimal." 

"All  is  well  now,"  remarked  a 
coarse  humorist ;  "  she  hath  gotten 
her  sweetheart." 

"  Haw  !  haw  !  haw  !  "  went  the 
crowd. 

She  dropped  Gerard's  hand  directly, 
and  turned  round,  with  eyes  flashing 
through  her  tears : 

"  I  have  no  sweetheart,  you  rude 
men.  But  I  am  friendless  in  your 
boorish  town,  and  this  is  a  friend ; 
and  one  who  knows,  what  you  know 
not,  how  to  treat  the  aged  and  the 
weak." 

The  crowd  was  dead  silent.  They 
had  only  been  thoughtless,  and  now 
felt  the  rebuke,  though  severe,  was 
just.  The  silence  enabled  Gerard  to 
treat  with  the  porter. 

"  I  am  a  competitor,  sir." 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  and  the 
man  eyed  him  suspiciously. 

"  Gerard,  tlie  son  of  Elias." 

The  janitor  inspected  a  slip  of 
parchment  he  held  in  his  hand  :  — 

"  Gerard  Eliassoen  can  enter." 

"  With  my  company ;  these  two  ?  " 

"  Nay ;  those  are  not  your  com- 
pany ;  they  came  before  you." 


16 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


"  What  matter  ?  they  are  my 
friends,  and  without  them  I  go  not 
in." 

"  Stay  without,  then." 

"  That  will  I  not." 

"  That  wc  will  see." 

"  Wc  will,  and  speedily."  And 
with  this  Gerard  raised  a  voice  of  as- 
tounding volume  and  power,  and 
shouted,  so  that  the  whole  street 
rang  : 

"  Ho !  PiiiLir,  Earl  of  Hol- 
land ! " 

"  Are  you  mad  ?  "  cried  the  porter. 

"  Hkrk  is  one  of  youR  varlets 

DEFIES  VOU." 

"  Hush,  hush  ! " 

"  And  will  not  let  your 
glests  pass  in." 

"  Hush  !  murder  !  The  duke  's 
there.  1  'm  dead,"  cried  the  janitor, 
quaking. 

Then  suddenly  trying  to  overpower 
Gerard's  thunder,  he  shouted,  with 
all  his  lungs  :  — 

"Open  the  gate,  ye  knaves! 
Way  there  for  Gerard  Elias- 
soEN  and  ms  COMPANY  !  (the  fiends 
go  with  him  !  ") 

The  gate  swung  open  as  by  magic. 
Eight  soldiers  lowered  their  pikes  half- 
way, and  made  an  arch,  under  which 
the  victorious  three  marched  in  tri- 
umphant. The  moment  they  had 
passed,  the  pikes  clashed  together 
horizontally  to  bar  the  gateway,  and 
all  but  pinned  an  abdominal  citizen 
that  sought  to  wedge  in  along  with 
them. 

Once  passed  the  guarded  portal,  a 
few  steps  brought  the  trio  upon  a 
scene  of  Oriental  luxury.  The  court- 
yard was  laid  out  in  tables  loaded 
with  rich  meats  and  piled  with  gor- 
geous plate.  Guests  in  rich  and  vari- 
ous costumes  sat  beneath  a  leafy 
canopy  of  fresh-cut  branches  fastened 
tastefully  to  golden,  silver,  and  blue 
silken  cords  that  traversed  the  area ; 
and  fruits  of  many  hues,  including 
some  artificial  ones  of  gold,  silver, 
and  wax,  hung  pendent,  or  peeped 
like  fair  eyes  among  the  green  leaves 
of  plane-trees  and  lime-trees.      The 


duke's  minstrels  swept  their  lutes  at 
intervals,  and  a  fountain  played  red 
Burgund)'  in  si.x  jets  that  met  and 
battled  in  the  air.  The  evening  sun 
darted  its  fires  through  those  bright 
and  purple  wine-spouts,  making  them 
jets  and  cascades  of  molten  rubies, 
then,  passing  on,  tin<,'ed  with  the  blood 
of  the  grape,  shed  crimson  glories 
here  and  there  on  fair  faces,  snowy 
beards,  velvet,  satin,  jewelled  hilts, 
glowing  gold,  gleaming  silver,  and 
sparkling  glass.  Gerard  and  his 
friends  stood  dazzled,  spellbound.  — 
Presently  a  whisper  buzzed  round 
them,  "  Salute  the  duke  !  Salute  the 
duke  !  "  They  looked  up,  and  there 
on  high,  under  the  dais,  was  their 
sovereign,  bidding  them  welcome  with 
a  kindly  wave  of  the  hand.  The  men 
bowed  low,  and  Margaret  courtesied 
with  a  deep  and  graceful  obeisance. 
The  duke's  hand  being  up,  he  gave  it 
another  turn,  and  pointed  the  new 
comers  out  to  a  knot  of  valets.  In- 
stantly seven  of  his  people,  with  an 
obedient  start,  went  headlong  at  our 
friends,  seated  them  at  a  t:ii)le,  and 
put  fifteen  many-colored  soups  hiefore 
them,  in  little  silver  bowls,  and  as 
many  wines  in  crystal  vases. 

"  Nay,  father,  let  us  not  eat  until  wo 
have  thanked  our  good  friend,"  said 
Margaret,  now  first  recovering  from 
all  this  bustle. 

"  Girl,  he  is  our  guardian  angel." 

Gerard  put  his  face  into  his  hands, 

"  Tell  me  when  you  have  done," 
said  he,  "  and  I  will  reappear  and 
have  my  supper,  for  I  am  hungry. 
I  know  which  of  us  three  is  the  hap- 
piest at  meeting  again." 

"  Me  ?  "  inquired  Margaret. 

"Xo:  guess  again." 

"  Father  ? " 

"No." 

"  Then  I  have  no  guess  ■which  it 
can  be";  and  she  gave  a  little  crow 
of  happiness  and  gayety.  The  sou|> 
was  tasted,  and  vanished  in  a  twirl  of 
fourteen  liands,  and  fish  came  on  the 
table  in  a  dozen  forms,  Avith  patties  of 
lobster  and  almonds  mixed,  and  of 
almonds  and  cream,  and  an  immense 


THE  CLOISTER  AND   THE  HEARTH. 


17 


variety  of  "  brouets,"  knowTi  to  us  as 
"  rissoles."  The  next  trifle  was  a 
vv-ild  boar,  which  smelt  divine.  Why, 
then,  did  Margaret  start  away  from 
it  with  two  shrieks  of  dismay,  and 
pinch  so  good  a  friend  as  Gerard? 
Because  the  duke's  "cuisinier"  had 
been  too  clever,  had  made  this  excel- 
lent dish  too  captivating  to  the  sight 
as  well  as  taste.  He  had  restored  to 
the  animal,  by  elaborate  mimicry 
with  burnt  sugar  and  other  edible 
colors,  the  hair  and  bristles  he  had 
robbed  him  of  by  fire  and  water. 
To  make  him  still  more  enticing,  the 
huge  tusks  were  carefully  preserved 
in  the  brute's  jaw,  and  gave  his 
mouth  the  winning  smile  that  comes 
of  tusk  in  man  or  beast :  and  two 
eyes  of  colored  sugar  glowed  in  his 
Jiead.  St.  Argut !  what  eyes !  so 
bright,  so  bloodshot,  so  threatening, 
—  they  followed  a  man  and  every 
movement  of  his  knife  and  spoon. 
But,  indeed,  I  need  the  pencil  of 
Granville  or  Tenniel  to  make  you 
see  the  two  gilt  valets  on  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  table  putting  the  mon- 
ster down  before  our  friends,  with 
a  smiling,  self-satisfied,  benevolent 
obsequiousness,  —  for  this  ghastly 
monster  was  the  flower  of  all  comes- 
tibles,—  old  Peter  clasping  both 
hands  in  pious  admiration  of  it ; 
Margaret  wheeling  round  with  hor- 
ror-stricken eyes  and  her  hand  on 
Gerard's  shoulder,  squeaking  and 
pinching ;  his  face  of  unwise  delight 
at  being  pinched,  the  grizzly  brute 
glaring  sulkily  on  all,  and  the  guests 
grinning  from  ear  to  ear. 

"  What 's  to  do  ?  "  shouted  the  duke, 
hearing  the  signals  of  female  distress. 
Seven  of  his  people  with  a  zealous 
start  went  headlong  and  told  him. 
He  laughed  and  said,  "  Give  her  of 
the  bcef-stutfing,  then,  and  bring  me 
Sir  Boar."  Benevolent  monarch! 
The  beef-stutfing  was  his  own  private 
dish.  On  these  grand  occasions  an 
ox  was  roasted  whole,  and  reserved 
for  the  poor.  But  this  wise  as  well 
as  charitable  prince  had  discovered, 
that  whatever  venison,  hares,  lamb. 


poultry,  &c.  you  skewered  into  that 
beef  cavern,  got  cooked  to  perfection, 
retaining  their  own  juices  and  receiv- 
ing those  of  the  reeking  ox.  These 
he  called  his  beef-stuffing,  and  took 
delight  therein,  as  did  now  our  trio ; 
for,  at  his  word,  seven  of  his  people 
went  headlong,  and  drove  silver  tri- 
dents into  the  steaming  cave  at  ran- 
dom, and  speared  a  kid,  a  cygnet,  and 
a  flock  of  wild  fowl.  These  presently 
smoked  before  Gerard  and  company  ; 
and  Peter's  face,  sad  and  slightly 
morose  at  the  loss  of  the  savage  hog, 
expanded  and  shone.  After  this 
twenty  different  tarts  of  fruits  and 
herbs,  and,  last  of  all,  confectionery 
on  a  Titanic  scale ;  cathedrals  of 
sugar,  all  gilt  and  painted  in  the  in- 
terstices of  the  bas-i'eliefs ;  castles 
with  their  moats  and  ditches,  imitat- 
ed to  the  life ;  elephants,  camels, 
toads  ;  knights  on  horseback  joust- 
ing ;  kings  and  princesses  looking  on  ; 
trumpeters  blowing ;  and  all  these 
personages  delicious  eating,  and  their 
veins  filled  with  sweet-scented  juices: 
works  of  art  made  to  be  destroyed. 
The  guests  breached  a  bastion,  crunch- 
ed a  crusader  and  his  horse  and  lance, 
or  cracked  a  bishop,  cope,  chasuble, 
crosier  and  all,  as  remorselessly  as  we 
do  a  caraway  comfit ;  sipping,  mean- 
while, hippocnis  and  other  spiced 
drinks,  and  Greek  and  Corsican  wines, 
while  every  now  and  then  little  Turk- 
ish boys,  turbaned,  spangled,  jewelled, 
and  gilt,  came  offering  on  bended 
knee  golden  troughs  of  rose-water 
and  orange-water  to  keep  the  guests' 
hands  cool  and  perfumed. 

But  long  before  our  party  arrived 
at  this  final  stage,  appetite  had  suc- 
cumbed, and  Gerard  had  suddenly 
remembered  he  was  the  bearer  of  a 
letter  to  the  Princess  Marie,  and,  in 
an  undertone,  had  asked  one  of  the 
servants  if  he  would  undertake  to  de- 
liver it.  The  man  took  it  with  a 
deep  obeisance :  "  He  could  not  de- 
liver it  himself,  but  would  instantly 
give  it  one  of  the  princess's  suite, 
several  of  whom  were  about." 

It  mav  be  remembered  that  Pctet 


18 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


and  Marj»arct  came  here  not  to  dine, 
but  to  find  their  cousin.  Well,  the 
old  ^'eiitleniau  ate  heartily,  and,  beinj^ 
much  fatii,Mied,  dropped  asleep,  and 
forgot  all  al)out  his  cousin.  Margaret 
did  not  remind  him,  we  shall  hear  why. 

Meantime,  that  cousin  was  seated 
within  a  few  feet  of  them,  at  their 
hacks,  and  discovered  them  when 
Margaret  turned  round  and  screamed 
at  the  hoar.  But  he  forlx»re  to  sneak 
to  them  for  nmnicipal  reasons.  Alar- 
garet  was  very  plainly  dressed,  and 
Peter  inclined  to  threadbare.  So  the 
alderman  said  to  himself:  — 

"  T  will  be  time  to  make  up  to 
them  when  the  sun  sets  and  the  com- 
pany disperses  ;  then  I  wi'.l  take  my 
poor  relations  to  my  house,  and  none 
will  be  the  wiser." 

Half  the  courses  were  lost  on  Ge- 
rard and  Margaret.  They  were  no 
great  caters,  and  just  now  were  feed- 
ing on  sweet  thoughts  that  have  ever 
been  unfavorable  to  aj)])etite.  But 
there  is  a  delicate  kind  of  sensuality, 
to  whose  influence  these  two  were 
perhaps  more  sensitive  than  any  other 
pair  in  that  assembly,  —  the  delights 
of  color,  music,  and  perfume,  all  of 
which  blended  so  fascinatingly  here. 

Margaret  leaned  back  and  half  clos- 
ed her  eyes,  and  murmured  to  Gerard  : 
"  What  a  lovely  scene !  the  warm  sun, 
the  green  shade,  the  rich  dresses,  the 
bright  music  of  the  lutos  and  the 
cool  music  of  the  fountain,  and  all 
faces  so  happy  and  gay  !  and  then,  it 
is  to  you  we  owe  it." 

Gerard  was  silent  all  but  his  eyes  ; 
observing  which,  — 

"  Now,  speak  not  to  me,"  said 
Margaret,  languidly  ;  "  let  me  listen 
to  the  fountain  :  what  arc  you  a  com- 
petitor for  ? " 

He  told  her. 

"  Verj'  well  !  You  will  gain  one 
prize,  at  least." 

"  Which  ?  which  ?  Have  you  seen 
any  of  my  work  ?  " 

"  I?  no.  But  you  will  gain  a 
prize." 

"  I  hope  so  ;  but  what  makes  you 
think  so  ? " 


"  Because  you  were  so  good  to  my 
father." 

Gerard  smiled  at  the  feminine  logic, 
and  hung  his  liead  at  the  sweet  praise, 
and  was  silent. 

"  Speak  not,"  murmured  Margaret 
"  They  say  this  is  a  world  of  sin  and 
misery.  Can  that  be  ?  What  is  your 
opinion  ?  " 

"  No  !  that  is  all  a  silly  old  song," 
explained  Gerard.  "  'T  is  a  byword 
our  elders  keep  repeating,  out  of  cus- 
tom :  it  is  not  true." 

"  How  can  you  know  ?  you  are  but 
a  child,"  said  Margaret,  with  pensive 
dignity. 

"  Why,  only  look  round  !  And  then 
I  thought  I  had  lost  you  forever ;  and 
you  are  by  my  side ;  and  now  the 
minstrels  are  going  to  j)lay  again. 
Sin  and  misery  ?  Stuff  and  non* 
sense  !  " 

The  lutes  burst  out.  The  court- 
yard rang  again  with  their  delicate 
harmony. 

"  What  do  you  admire  most  of  all 
these  beautiful  things,  Gerard  ?  " 

"  You  know  my  name  ?  How  is 
that  1  " 

"  White  magic.     I  am  a  witch." 

"  Angels  are  never  witches.  But  I 
can't  think  how  you  —  " 

"  Foolish  boy  !  was  it  not  cried  at 
the  gate  loud  enough  to  deave  one  ?  " 

"  So  it  was.  Where  is  my  head  ? 
What  do  I  admire  most  ?  If  you 
will  sit  a  little  more  that  way,  1  '11 
tell  you." 

"  This  way  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  so  that  the  light  may  fall  on 
you.  There.  I  see  many  fair  things 
here,  fairer  than  I  could  have  con- 
ceived ;  but  the  bravest  of  all  to  my 
eye  is  your  lovely  hair  in  its  silver 
frame,  and  the  setting  sun  kissing  it. 
It  minds  me  of  what  the  Vnlgate 
praises  for  beauty,  "  an  apple  of  gold 
tn  a  network  of  silver,"  and,  O,  what 
a  pity  I  did  not  know  you  before  I 
sent  in  my  poor  endeavors  at  illumi- 
nating !  i  could  illuminate  so  much 
better  now.  I  could  do  everything 
better.      There,  now  the  sun  is  fulJ 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


19 


on  it,  it  is  like  an  aureole.  So  Our 
Lady  looked,  and  none  since  her  until 
to-da>'." 

"  0,  fie !  it  is  wicked  to  talk  so. 
Compare  a  poor,  coarse-favored  girl 
Cke  me  with  the  Queen  of  Heaven  ? 
O  Gerard!  I  thought  you  were  a 
good  young  man."  And  Margaret 
was  shocked  apparently. 

Gerard  tried  to  explain.  "  I  am  no 
worse  than  the  rest ;  but  how  can  I 
help  having  eyes,  and  a  heart,  —  Mar- 
garet ! " 

"  Gerard  ?  " 

"  Be  not  angry  now  !  " 

"  Now  is  it  likely  1 " 

"  I  love  you." 

"  0,  for  shame  !  you  must  not  say 
that  to  me,"  and  Margaret  colored 
furiously  at  this  sudden  assault. 
**    "I  can't  help  it.   I  love  you.   I  love 
you." 

"  Hush,  hush  !  for  pity's  sake  !  I 
must  not  listen  to  such  words  from  a 
stranger.  I  am  ungrateful  to  call  you 
a  stranger.  0,  how  one  may  be  mis- 
taken !  If  I  had  known  you  were  so 
bold  —  "  And  Margaret's  bosom  be- 
gan to  heave,  and  her  cheeks  were 
covered  vnth  blushes,  and  she  looked 
towards  her  sleeping  father,  very  much 
like  a  timid  thing  that  meditates  ac- 
tual flight. 

Then  Gerard  was  frightened  at  the 
alarm  he  caused.  "  Forgive  me,"  said 
he,  imploringly.  "  How  could  any 
one  help  loving  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  1  will  try  and  forgive 
you,  —  you  are  so  good  in  other  re- 
spects; but  then  you  must  promise 
me  never  to  say  you  —  to  say  that 
again. " 

"  Give  me  your  hand,  then,  or  you 
don't  forgive  me." 

She  hesitated;  but  eventually  put 
out  her  hand  a  very  little  way  very 
slowly,  and  with  seeming  reluctance. 
He  took  it,  and  held  it  prisoner. 
When  she  thought  it  had  been  there 
long  enough,  she  tried  gently  to  draw 
it  away.  He  held  it  tight ;  it  submit- 
ted quite  patiently  to  force.  What  is 
the  use  of  resisting  force  1  She  turned 
her  head  away,  and  her  long  eyelashes 


drooped  sweetly.  Gerald  lost  nothing 
by  his  promise.  Words  were  not 
heeded  here ;  and  silence  was  more 
eloquent.  Nature  was  in  that  day 
what  she  is  in  ours,  but  manners  were 
somewhat  freer.  Then,  as  now,  maid'- 
ens  drew  back  alarmed  at  the  first 
words  of  love ;  but  of  prudery  and 
artificial  coquetry  there  was  little,  and 
the  young  soon  read  one  another's 
hearts.  Everything  was  on  Gerard's 
side  :  his  good  looks,  her  belief  in  his 
goodness,  her  gratitude,  and  oppor- 
tunity ;  for  at  the  duke's  banquet,  this 
mellow  summer  eve,  all  things  dis- 
posed the  female  nature  to  tenderness ; 
the  avenues  to  the  heart  lay  open  ;  the 
senses  Avere  so  soothed  and  subdued 
with  lovely  colors,  gentle  sounds,  and 
delicate  odors ;  the  sun  gently  sink- 
ing, the  warm  air,  the  green  canopy, 
the  cool  music  of  the  now  violet  foun- 
tain. 

Gerard  and  Margaret  sat  hand  in 
hand  in  silence ;  and  Gerard's  eyes 
sought  hers  lovingly ;  and  hers  now 
and  then  turned  on  him  timidly  and 
imploringly ;  and  presently  two  sweet 
unreasonable  tears  rolled  down  hei 
cheeks,  and  she  smiled  deliciously 
while  they  were  drying ;  yet  they  did 
not  take  long. 

And  the  sun  declined ;  and  the  air 
cooled ;  and  the  fountain  plashed  more 
gently ;  and  the  pair  throbbed  in  uni- 
son and  silence,  and  this  weary  world 
looked  heaven  to  them. 

0,  the  merry  days,  the  merry  days  when  we 

were  young, 
0,  the  merry  days,  the  merry  days  when  W9 

were  young. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  GRAVE  white-haired  seneschal 
came  to  their  table,  and  inquired  cour- 
teously whether  Gerard  Eliassoen  was 
of  their  company.  Upon  Gerard's 
answer,  he  said  :  — 

"  The  Princess  Marie  would  confer 


20 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


with  you,  young  sir ;  I  am  to  conduct 
you  to  her  prt'scnce." 

Instantly  all  faces  witliin  licarinp^ 
turned  sharp  round,  and  were  hent 
with  curiosity  and  envy  on  the  man 
that  was  to  go  to  a  princess. 

Grcrard  rose  to  obey. 

"  I  wager  avc  shall  not  see  you 
again,"  said  Margaret,  calmly,  but 
coloring  a  little. 

"  That  will  you,"  was  the  reply ; 
then  he  whispered  in  her  ear :  "  This 
is  my  good  princess,  but  you  arc  my 
queen."  He  added  aloud :  "Wait  for 
me,  I  pray  you ;  I  will  presently  re- 
turn." 

"  Ay,  ay ! "  said  Peter,  awaking 
and  speaking  at  one  and  the  same 
moment. 

Gerard  gone,  the  pair  whose  dress 
was  so  homely,  yet  they  were  with 
the  man  whom  the  princess  sent  for, 
became  "  the  cynosure  of  neighboring 
eyes  "  ;  observing  which  William 
Johnson  came  forward,  acted  surprise, 
and  claimed  his  relations  : 

"  And  to  think  that  there  was  I  at 
your  backs,  and  you  saw  me  not." 

"  Nay,  cousin  Johnson,  I  saw  you 
long  syne,"  said  Margaret,  coldly. 

"  You  saw  me,  and  spoke  not  to 
me?" 

"  Cousin,  it  was  for  you  to  welcome 
us  to  Rotterdam,  as  it  is  for  us  to  wel- 
come you  at  Sevenbergen.  Your  ser- 
vant denied  us  a  seat  in  your  house." 

"  The  idiot ! " 

"  And  I  had  a  mind  to  see  whether 
it  was  '  like  maid  like  master ' ;  for 
there  is  sooth  in  bywords." 

William  Johnson  blushed  purple. 
He  saw  Margaret  was  keen,  and  sus- 
pected him.  He  did  the  wisest  thing 
under  the  circumstances,  trusted  to 
deeds,  not  words.  He  insisted  on  their 
coming  home  with  him  at  once,  and 
he  would  show  them  whether  they 
were  welcome  to  Rotterdam  or  not. 

"  Who  doubts  it,  cousin  ?  Who 
doubts  it  ?  "  said  the  scholar. 

Margaret  thanked  him  graciously, 
but  demurred  to  go  just  now  ;  said  she 
wanted  to  hear  the  minstrels  again. 
In  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  John- 


son renewed  his  proposal,  and  bade 
her  observe  that  many  of  the  guests 
had  left.  Then  her  real  reason  came 
out. 

"  It  were  ill  manners  to  our  friend, 
and  he  will  lose  us.  He  knows  not 
where  we  lodge  in  Rotterdam,  and  the 
city  is  large,  and  wc  have  parted  com- 
pany once  already." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Johnson,  "  we  will 
provide  for  that.  My  young  man, 
ahem  !  I  mean  my  secretary,  shall 
sit  here  and  wait,  and  bring  him  on 
to  my  house  ;  he  shall  lodge  with  me 
and  with  no  other." 

"  Cousin,  we  shall  be  too  burden- 
some." 

"  Nay,  nay  ;  you  shall  sec  whether 
you  are  welcome  or  not,  you  and  your 
fricTuls,  and   your  friends'  friends  if 
needs  be:  and  I  shall  hear  what  the' 
princess  would  with  him." 

Margaret  felt  a  thrill  of  joy  that 
Gerard  should  be  lodged  under  the 
same  roof  with  her ;  then  she  had  a 
slight  misgiving.  "  But  if  your  young 
man  should  be  thoughtless,  and  go 
play,  and  Gerard  miss  him  ?  " 

"  He  go  play  ?  He  leave  that  spot 
where  I  put  him,  and  bid  him  stay  ? 
Ho  !  Stand  forth,  Hans  Cloterman." 

A  figure  clad  in  black  serge  and 
dark  violet  hose  arose,  and  took  two 
steps,  and  stood  before  them  without 
moving  a  muscle  :  a  solemn,  precise 
young  man,  the  very  statue  of  gravity 
and  starched  propriety.  At  his  aspect 
Margaret,  being  very  happy,  could 
hardly  keep  her  countenance.  But 
she  whispered  Johnson,  "  I  would  put 
my  hand  in  the  tire  for  him.  We  are 
at  your  command,  cousin,  as  soon  as 
you  have  given  him  liis  orders." 

Hans  was  then  instructed  to  sit  at 
the  table  and  wait  for  Gerard,  and 
conduct  him  to  Ooster  Waagen  Straet. 
He  replied,  not  in  words,  but  by  calm, 
ly  taking  the  seat  indicated ;  and  Mar- 
garet, Peter,  and  William  Johnson 
went  away  together. 

"And,  indeed,  it  is  time  you  were 
abed,  father,  after  all  your  travel," 
said  Margaret.  This  had  been  in  her 
mind  all  along. 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE   HEARTH. 


21 


Hans  Cloterraan  sat  waiting  for 
Gerard,  solemn  and  business-like. 
The  minutes  flew  by,  but  excited  no 
impatience  in  tliat  perfect  young  man. 
Johnson  did  him  no  more  than  jus- 
tice when  he  laughed  to  scorn  the 
idea  of  his  secretary  leaving  his  post, 
or  neglecting  his  duty,  in  pursuit  of 
sport  or  out  of  youthful  hilarity  and 
frivolity. 

As  Gerard  was  long  in  coming, 
the  patient  Hans  —  his  employer's 
eye  being  no  longer  on  him  —  im- 
proved the  time  by  quaffing  solemnly, 
silently,  and  at  short  but  accurately 
measured  intervals,  goblets  of  Corsi- 
can  wine.  The  wine  was  strong,  so 
was  Cloterman's  head  ;  and  Gerard 
had  been  gone  a  good  hour  ere  the 
model  secretary  imbibed  the  notion 
that  Creation  expected  Cloterman  to 
drink  the  health  of  all  good  fellows, 
and  "  nommement "  of  the  Duke  of 
Burgundy  here  present.  With  this 
view  he  filled  bumper  nine,  and  rose 
gingerly  but  solemnly  and  slowly. 
Having  reached  his  full  height,  he  in- 
stantly rolled  upon  the  grass,  goblet 
in  hand,  spilling  the  cold  liquor  on 
more  than  one  ankle,  —  whose  owners 
frisked,  —  but  not  disturbing  a  mus- 
cle in  his  own  long  face,  which,  in 
the  total  eclipse  of  reason,  retained 
its  gravity,  primness,  and  infallibil- 
ity. 

The  seneschal  led  Gerard  through 
several  passages  to  the  door  of  the 
pavilion,  where  some  young  noble- 
men, embroidered  and  feathered,  sat 
sentinel,  guarding  the  heir-apparent, 
and  playing  cards  by  the  red  light  of 
torches  their  servants  held.  A  whis- 
per from  the  seneschal,  and  one  of 
them  rose  reluctantly,  stared  at  Ge- 
rard with  haughty  surprise,  and  en- 
tered the  pavilion.  He  presently  re- 
turned, and,  beckoning  the  pair,  led 
them  through  a  passage  or  two,  and 
landed  them  in  an  antechamber,  where 
sat  three  more  young  gentlemen, 
feathered,  furred,  and  embroidered 
like  pieces  of  fancy-work,  and  deep 
in  that  instructive  and  edifying  branch 
of  learning,  dice. 


"  You  can't  see  the  priflccss,  —  it  is 
too  late,"  said  one. 

Another  followed  suit :  — 

"  She  passed  this  way  but  now  with 
her  nurse.  She  is  gone  to  bed,  doll 
and  all.     Deuce-ace  again  !  "' 

Gerard  prepared  to  retire.  The 
seneschal,  with  an  incredulous  smile, 
replied  :  — 

"  The  young  man  is  here  by  the 
countess's  orders ;  be  so  good  as  to 
conduct  him  to  her  ladies." 

On  this  a  superb  Adonis  rose,  with 
an  injured  look,  and  led  Gerard  into 
a  room  where  sat  or  lolloped  eleven 
ladies,  chattering  like  magpies.  Two, 
more  industrious  than  the  rest,  were 
playing  cat's-cradle  with  fingers  as 
nimble  as  their  tongues.  At  the  sight 
of  a  stranger  all  their  tongues  stopped 
like  one  prece  of  complicated  machin- 
ery, and  all  the  eyes  turned  on  Gerard, 
as  if  the  same  string  that  checked  the 
tongues  had  turned  the  eyes  on.  Ge- 
rard was  ill  at  ease  before,  but  this  bat- 
tery of  eyes  discountenanced  him,  and 
down  went  his  eyes  on  the  ground. 
Then  the  cowards,  finding,  like  the 
hare  who  ran  by  the  pond  and  the 
frogs  scuttled  into  the  water,  that 
there  was  a  creature  they  could 
frighten,  giggled,  and  enjoyed  their 
prowess.  Then  a  duenna  said,  se- 
verely, "  Mesdames  ! "  and  they  were 
all  abashed  at  once  as  though  a  mod- 
esty string  had  been  pulled.  This 
same  duenna  took  Gerard,  and 
marched  before  him  in  solemn  si- 
lence. The  young  man's  heart  sank, 
and  he  had  half  a  mind  to  turn  and 
run  out  of  the  place.  "  What  must 
princes  be,"  he  thought,  "  when  their 
courtiers  are  so  freezing  ?  Doubtless 
they  take  their  breeding  from  him 
they  serve."  These  reflections  were 
interrupted  bv  the  duenna  suddenly 
introducing  him  into  a  room  where 
three  ladies  sat  working,  and  a  pretty 
little  girl  tuning  a  lute.  The  ladies 
were  richly,  but  not  showily  dressed, 
and  the  duenna  went  up  to  the  one 
who  was  hemming  a  kerchief,  and  said 
a  few  words  in  a  low  tone.  This  lady 
then  turned  towards  Gerard  with  a 


22 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


Bmile,  and  beckoned  him  to  come  near 
her.  She  did  not  rise,  hut  she  hiid 
aside  her  work,  and  lier  manner  of 
turning;  towards  him,  slight  as  the 
movement  was,  was  full  of  grace  and 
case  and  courtesy.  She  began  a  con- 
versation at  once. 

"  Margaret  Van  Eyck  is  an  old 
friend  of  mine,  sir,  and  I  am  right 
glad  to  have  a  letter  from  her  hand, 
and  thankful  to  you,  sir,  for  bringing 
it  to  me  safely.  Maria,  my  love,  this 
is  the  young  gentleman  who  brought 
you  that  pretty  miniature." 

"  Sir,  I  thank  you  a  thousand 
times,"  said  the  young  lady. 

"  I  am  glad  you  feel  her  debtor, 
sweetheart,  for  our  friend  could  have 
us  to  do  liim  a  little  service  in  re- 
turn." 

"  I  will  do  anything  on  earth  for 
him,"  replied  the  young  lady,  with 
ardor. 

"  Anything  on  earth  is  nothing  in 
the  world,"  said  the  Countess  of 
Charlois,  quietly. 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  —  What  would 
you  have  me  to  do,  sir  ?  " 

Gerard  had  just  found  out  what 
high  society  he  was  in.  "  My  sover- 
eign demoiselle,"  said  he,  gently,  and 
a  little  tremulously,  "  where  there  liave 
been  no  pains  there  needs  no  reward." 
"  But  we  must  obey  mamma.  All 
the  world  must  obey  mamma." 

"  That  is  true.     Then,  our  demoi- 
selle, reward  me,  if  you  Avill,  by  let- 
ting me  hear  the  stave  you  were  going 
to  sing  and  I  did  interrupt  it." 
"  What,  you  love  music,  sir  ?  " 
"  I  adore  it." 

The  little  princess  looked  inquir- 
ingly at  her  mother,  and  received  a 
smile  of  assent.  She  then  took  her 
lute  and  sang  a  romaunt  of  the  day. 
Although  but  twelve  years  old,  she 
was  a  well-taught  and  painstaking 
musician.  Her  little  claw  swept  the 
chords  with  courage  and  precision, 
and  struck  out  the  notes  of  the  arpeg- 
gio clear  and  distinct  and  bright, 
like  twinkling  stars  :  but  the  main 
charm  was  her  voice.  It  was  not 
mighty,  but  it  was  round,  clear,  full, 


and  ringing  like  a  bell.  She  sang 
with  a  certain  modest  eloquence, 
though  she  knew  none  of  the  tricks 
of  teeling.  She  was  too  young  to  be 
theatrical,  or  even  sentimental,  sb 
nothing  was  forced  —  all  gushed. 
Her  little  mouth  seemed  the  mouth  of 
Nature.  The  ditty,  too,  was  as  pure 
as  its  utterance.  As  there  were  none 
of  those  false  divisions  —  those  whin- 
ing slurs,  which  are  now  sold  so  dear 
by  Italian  songsters,  though  every 
jackal  in  India  delivers  them  gratis  to 
his  customei"s  all  night,  and  sometimes 
gets  shot  for  them,  and  always  deser\-e8 
it — so  there  were  no  cadences  or 
fiorituri,  the  trite,  turgid,  and  feeble 
expletives  of  song,  the  skim-milk 
with  which  mindless  musicians  and 
mindless  writers  quench  fire,  wash 
out  color,  and  drown  melody  and 
meaning  dead. 

While  the  pure  and  tender  strain 
was  flowing  from  the  pure  young 
throat,  Gerard's  eyes  tilled.  The 
countess  watched  him  with  interest, 
for  it  was  usual  to  applaud  the  prin- 
cess loudly,  but  not  with  cheek  and 
eye.  So  when  the  voice  ceased,  and 
the  glasses  left  off  ringing,  she  asked 
demurely,  "  Was  he  content  1  " 

Gerard  gave  a  little  start ;  the  spo- 
ken voice  broke  a  charm,  and  brought 
him  back  to  earth. 

"  0  madam  ! "  he  cried,  "  surely  it 
is  thus  that  cherubs  and  seraphs  sing, 
and  charm  the  saints  in  heaven." 

"  I  am  somewhat  of  your  opinion, 
my  young  friend,"  said  the  countess, 
with  emotion  ;  and  she  bent  a  look  of 
love  and  gentle  pride  upon  her  girl  ; 
a  heavenly  look,  such  as,  they  say,  is 
given  to  the  eye  of  the  short-lived 
resting  on  the  short-lived. 

The  countess  resumed  :  — 

"  My  old  friend  requests  me  to  be 
serviceable  to  you.  It  is  the  first  fa- 
vor she  has  done  us  the  honor  of  ask- 
ing us,  and  the  request  is  sacred. 
You  are  in  holy  orders,  sir  ?  " 

Gerard  bowed. 

"  I  fear  you  are  not  a  priest,  yoa 
look  too  young." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


23 


"  O  no,  madam  :  I  am  not  even  a 
snb-dcacon.  I  am  only  a  lector  ;  bnt 
next  month  I  shall  be  an  exorcist ; 
and  before  long  an  acolyth." 

"  Well,  Monsieur  Gerard,  with  your 
accomplishments  you  can  soon  pass 
through  the  inferior  orders.  And  let 
me  beg  of  you  to  dc  so.  For  the  day 
after  you  have  said  your  first  mass  I 
shall  "have  the  pleasure  of  appointing 
you  to  a  beneiice." 

"  0,  madam  !  " 

"  And,  Marie,  remember  I  make 
this  promise  in  your  name  as  well  as 
in  my  own." 

"  Fear  not,  mamma  :  I  will  not  for- 
get. But  if  he  will  take  my  advice, 
what  he  will  be  is  Bishop  of  Liege. 
The  Bishop  of  Lie'ge  is  a  beautifid 
bishop.  AVliat !  do  you  not  remember 
him,  mamma,  that  day  we  were  at 
Liege  ?  he  was  braver  than  grandpapa 
himself.  He  had  on  a  crown,  a  high 
one,  and  it  was  cut  in  the  middle,  and 
it  was  full  of,  O,  such  beautiful 
jewels  :  and  his  gown  stiff  with  gold ; 
and  his  mantle  too  ;  and  it  had  a 
broad  l)ordcr,  all  pictures  ;  but,  above 
all,  his  gloves  ;  you  have  no  such 
gloves,  mamma.  They  were  embroid- 
ered, and  covered  with  jewels,  and 
scented  with  such  lovely  scent ;  I 
smelt  them  all  the  time  he  was  giving 
me  his  blessing  on  my  head  with  them. 
Dear  old  man  !  I  dare  say  he  will  die 
soon,  —  most  old  people  do,  —  and 
then,  sir,  you  can  be  bishop,  you 
know,  and  wear  —  " 

"  Gently,  Marie,  gently  ;  bishoprics 
are  for  old  gentlemen ;  and  this  is  a 
young  gentleman." 

"  Mamma !  he  is  not  so  very 
young." 

"  Not  compared  witli  you,  Marie, 
eh  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  good  Vjlgth,  dear  mamma  ; 
and  I  am  sure  he  is  yood  enough  for 
a  bishop." 

"  Alas,  mademoiselle  !  you  are  mis- 
taken." 

"  I  know  not  that,  Monsieur  Ge- 
rard ;  but  I  am  a  little  jiuzzled  to  know 
on  what  grounds  mademoiselle  there 
uronouuces  your  character  so  boldl}-." 
2 


"  Alas,  mamma !  "  said  the  prin- 
cess, "  you  have  not  looked  at  his  ftice, 
then  " ;  and  she  raised  her  eyebrows 
at  her  mother's  simplicity. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the 
countess,  "  I  have.  Well,  sir,  if  I 
cannot  go  quite  so  fast  as  my  daugh- 
ter, attribute  it  to  my  age,  not  to  a 
want  of  interest  in  your  welfare.  A 
benefice  will  do  to  begin  your  career 
with  ;  and  I  must  take  care  it  is  not 
too  far  from  —  what  call  you  the 
place  1  " 

"  Tergou,  madam." 

"A  priest  gives  up  much,"  con- 
tinued the  countess  ;  "  often,  I  fear, 
he  leanis  too  late  how  much  " ;  and 
her  woman's  eye  rested  a  moment  on 
Gerard  with  mild  pity  and  half  sur- 
prise at  his  resigning  her  sex  and  all 
the  heaven  they  can  bestow,  and  the 
great  parental  joys.  "  At  least  you 
shall  be  near  }'our  friends.  Have  you 
a  niotlicr  ^ " 

"  Yes,  madam ;  thanks  be  to  God !  " 

"  Good  !  You  shall  have  a  church 
near  Tergou.  She  will  thank  me. 
And  now,  sir,  wc  must  not  detain  you 
too  long  from  those  who  have  a  better 
claim  to  your  society  than  we  have. 
Duchess,  oblige  me  by  bidding  one  of 
the  pages  conduct  liim  to  the  hall  of 
banquet ;  the  way  is  hard  to  find." 

Gerard  bowed  low  to  the  countess 
and  the  princess,  and  backed  towards 
the  door. 

"  I  hope  it  will  be  a  nice  benefice," 
said  the  princess  to  him,  with  a  pretty 
smile,  as  he  was  going  out ;  then,  shak- 
ing her  head  with  an  air  of  solemn 
misgiving,  "  but  you  had  better  have 
been  Bishop  of  Liege." 

Gerard  followed  his  new  conductor, 
his  heart  warm  with  gratitude  ;  but 
ere  he  reached  the  banquet-hall  a  chill 
came  over  him.  The  mi-nd  of  one  who 
has  led  a  quiet,  uneventful  life  is  not 
apt  to  take  in  contradictory  feelings 
at  the  same  moment  and  balance  them, 
but  rather  to  be  overpowered  by  each 
in  turn.  While  Gerard  was  with  the 
countess,  the  excitement  of  so  new  a 
situation,  the  unlooked-for  promise, 
the  joy  and  pride  it  would  cause  at 


24 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH 


home,  possessed  him  wholly  :  but  now 
it  was  passion's  turn  to  be  heard  again. 
What,  give  up  Margaret,  whose  soft 
hand  he  still  felt  in  his,  and  her  deep 
eyes  in  his  heart  1  resign  her  and  all 
the  world  of  love  and  joy  slie  had 
opened  on  him  to-day  1  The  revul- 
sion, when  it  did  come,  was  so  strong, 
that  he  hastily  resolved  to  say  noth- 
ing at  home  about  the  offered  benefice. 
"  The  countess  is  so  good,"  thought 
he,  "  she  has  a  hundred  ways  of  aid- 
ing a  young  man's  fortune ;  she  will 
not  compel  me  to  be  a  priest  when  she 
shall  learn  I  love  one  of  her  sex ;  one 
would  almost  think  she  does  know  it, 
for  she  cast  a  strange  look  on  me,  and 
said,  '  A  priest  gives  up  much,  too 
much.'  I  dare  say  she  will  give  me 
a  place  about  the  palace."  And  with 
this  hopeful  reflection  his  mind  was 
eased,  and,  being  now  at  the  entrance 
of  the  banqueting-hall,  he  thanked  his 
conductor,  and  ran  hastily  Avith  joyful 
eyes  to  Margaret.  He  came  in  sight 
of  the  table, — she  was  goi;c.  Peter 
was  gone  too.  Nobody  was  at  the  ta- 
ble at  all,  only  a  citizen  in  sober  gar- 
ments had  just  tumbled  under  it  dead 
drunk,  and  several  persons  were 
raising  him  to  carry  him  away.  Ge- 
rard never  guessed  how  important  this 
solemn  drunkard  was  to  him  ;  he  was 
looking  for  "Beauty,"  and  let  the 
"  Beast "  lie.  He  ran  wildly  round  the 
hall,  which  Avas  now  comparatively 
empty.  She  Avas  not  there.  He  left 
the  palace  ;  outside  he  found  a  crowd 
gaping  at  tAvo  great  fan-lights  just 
lighted  over  the  gate.  He  asked  them 
earnestly  if  they  had  seen  an  old  man 
in  a  gOAvn,  and  a  lovely  girl  pass  out. 
They  laughed  at  the  question.  "  They 
Avere  staring  at  these  ncAv  lights  that 
turn  night  into  day.  They  did  n't 
trouble  their  heads  about  old  men  and 
young  Avenches,  every-day  sights." 
From  another  group  he  learned  there 
Avas  a  Mystery  being  played  under  can- 
vas hard  by,  and  all  the  Avorld  gone 
to  see  it.  This  revived  his  hopes,  and 
he  went  and  saw  the  Mystery.  In  this 
representation,  divine  personages,  too 
sacred   for  me   to   name  here,  came 


clumsily  doAvn  from  heaven  to  talk 
sophistry  Avith  the  cardinal  Virtues,  the 
nine  Muses,  and  the  seven  deadly  Sins, 
all  present  in  human  shape,  and  not 
unlike  one  another.  To  enliven  Avhich 
weary  stuff,  in  rattled  the  Prince  of 
the  poAver  of  the  air,  and  an  imp  that 
kept  molesting  him,  and  buffeting  him 
Avith  a  bladder,  at  each  thAvack  of 
Avhich  the  crowd  were  in  ecstasies. 
When  the  Vices  had  uttered  good 
store  of  obscenity,  and  the  Virtues 
tAvaddle,  the  celestials,  including  the 
nine  Muses,  Avent  gingerly  back  to 
heaven  one  by  one  ;  for  there  Avas 
but  one  cloud ;  and  tAvo  artisans 
Avorked  it  up  Avith  its  supernatural 
freight,  and  Avorked  it  doAvn  Avith  a 
Avinch,  in  full  sight  of  the  audience. 
These  disposed  of,  the  bottomless  pit 
opened  and  flamed  in  the  centre  of 
the  stage ;  the  carpenters  and  Virtues 
shoved  the  Vices  in,  and  the  Virtues 
and  Beelzebub  and  his  tormentor 
danced  merrily  round  the  place  of 
eternal  torture  to  the  fife  and  tabor. 

This  entertainment  Avas  Avrit  by  the 
Bishop  of  Ghent  for  the  diffusion  of 
religious  sentiment  by  the  aid  of  the 
senses,  and  Avas  an  average  specimen 
of  theatrical  exhibitions  so  long  as 
they  Avere  in  the  hands  of  the  clergy. 
But,  in  course  of  time,  the  laity  con- 
ducted plays,  and  so  the  theatre,  I 
learn  from  the  pulpit,  has  become  pro- 
fane. 

Margaret  was  nowhere  in  the  croAvd, 
and  Gerard  could  not  enjoy  the  per- 
formance :  he  actually  Avent  aAA-ay  in 
Act  2,  in  the  midst  of  a  much-admired 
piece  of  dialogue,  in  Avhich  Justice 
outquibbled  Satan.  He  Avalked 
through  many  streets,  but  could  not 
find  her  he  sought.  At  last,  fairly 
Avom  out,  he  Avent  to  a  hostelry  and 
slept  till  daA'break.  All  that  day, 
heaA-y  and  heartsick,  he  sought  her, 
but  could  never  fall  in  with  her  or  her 
father,  nor  ever  obtain  the  slightest 
cleAv.  Then  he  felt  she  Avas  false  or 
had  changed  her  mind.  He  Avas  irri- 
tated now,  as  well  as  sad.  More 
good  fortune  fell  on  him :  he  almost 
hated  it.     At  last,  on  th(5  third  day. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


25 


after  he  had  once  more  been  through 
every  street,  he  said,  "  She  is  not  in 
the  town,  pnd  I  shall  never  see  her 
again.  I  will  go  home."  He  started 
for  Tergou  with  royal  favor  promised, 
with  fifteen  golden  angels  in  his  purse, 
a  golden  medal  on  his  bosom,  and  a 
heart  like  a  lump  of  lead. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

It  was  near  four  o'clock  in  the  af- 
ternoon. l<]li  was  in  the  shop.  His 
eldest  and  youngest  sons  were  abroad. 
Catherine  and  her  little  crippled 
daughter  had  long  been  anxious  about 
Gerard,  and  now  they  were  gone  a 
little  way  down  the  road,  to  see  if 
by  good  luck  he  might  be  visible  in 
the  distance  ;  and  Giles  was  alone  in 
the  sitting-room,  which  I  will  sketch, 
furniture  and  dwarf  included. 

The  Hollanders  Mere  always  an 
original  and  leading  people.  They 
claim  to  have  invented  printing 
(wooden  type),  oil-painting,  liberty, 
banking,  gardening,  i&c.  Above  all, 
years  before  my  tale,  they  invented 
cleanliness.  So,  while  the  English 
gentr}',  in  velvet  jerldns,  and  cliicken- 
toed  shoes,  trod  floors  of  stale  rushes, 
foul  receptacle  of  bones,  decomposing 
morsels,  spittle,  dogs'  eggs,  and  all 
abominations,  this  hosier's  sitting- 
room  at  Tergou  was  floored  with 
Dutch  tiles,  so  highly  glazed  and 
constantly  washed,  that  you  could  eat 
oflT  them.  There  was  one  large  win- 
dow ;  the  cross  stone-work  in  the  cen- 
tre of  it  was  very  massive,  and  stood 
in  relief,  lonking  like  an  actual  cross 
to  the  inmates,  and  was  eyed  as  such 
in  their  devutions.  The  panes  were 
very  small  and  lozenge-sha])ed,and  sol- 
dered to  one  another  with  stri])s  of 
lead  ;  the  like  ymi  may  see  to  this  day 
in  our  rural  cottages.  Hie  chairs  were 
rude  and  primitive,  all  but  the  arm- 
chair, whose  back,  at  right  angles  with 
its  seat,  was  so  high  that  the  sitter's 
head  stopped  two  feet  short  of  the  top. 


This  chair  was  of  oak,  and  car\'ed  at 
the  smnmit.  There  was  a  copper  pail, 
that  went  in  at  the  waist,  holding  holy 
water ;  and  a  little  hantl-besom  to 
sprinkle  it  far  and  wide  ;  and  a  long, 
narrow,  but  massive  oak  table,  and  s 
dwarf  sticking  to  its  rim  by  his  teeth, 
his  ej'cs  glaring,  and  his  claws  in  the 
air  like  a  pouncing  vampire.  Nature, 
it  would  seem,  did  not  make  Giles  a 
dwarf  out  of  malice  prepense ;  she 
constructed  a  head  and  torso  with  her 
usual  care :  but  just  then  her  atten- 
tion was  distracted,  and  she  left  the 
rest  to  chance ;  the  result  w^as  a  hu- 
man wedge,  an  in^'erted  cone.  He 
might  justly  have  taken  her  to  task  in 
the  terms  of  Horace  :  — 

"  Amphora  ccepit 
Institui ;  currente  rota  cur  urceus  exit?  " 

His  centre  was  anything  but  his 
centre  of  gravity.  Bisected,  upper 
Giles  would  have  outweighed  three 
lower  Giles.  But  this  very  dispropor- 
tion enabled  him  to  do  feats  that 
would  have  bafiled  Milo.  His  brawny 
arms  had  no  weight  to  draw  after 
them  ;  so  he  could  go  up  a  vertical 
pole  like  a  squirrel,  and  hang  for 
hours  from  a  bough  by  one  band,  like 
a  cherry  by  its  stalk.  If  he  could 
have  made  a  vacuum  with  his  hands, 
as  the  lizard  is  said  to  do  with  its  feet, 
he  would  have  gone  along  a  ceiling. 
Now,  this  pocket  athlete  was  insane 
ly  fond  of  griping  the  dinner-cloth 
with  both  hands,  and  so  swinging ; 
and  then  —  climax  of  delight !  —  he 
would  seize  it  with  his  teeth,  and,  tak- 
ing otF  his  hands,  hold  on  like  grim 
death  by  his  huge  ivories. 

But  all  our  joys,  however  elevat- 
ing, suffer  interruption.  Little  Kate 
caught  Samsonet  in  this  posture,  and 
stood  aghast.  She  was  her  mother's 
daughter,  and  her  heart  was  with  the 
furniture,  not  with  the  12mo  gym. 
nast. 

"  O  Giles,  how  can  you  ?  Mothej 
is  at  hand.     It  dents  the  table." 

"  Go  and  tell  her,  little  talebearer," 
snarled  Giles.  "  You  are  clio  one  foi 
ranking  mischief." 


26 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


"  Am  I  ?  "  inquired  Kate,  calmly ; 
"  that  is  news  to  inc." 

"  The  biggest  in  Tcrgou,"  growled 
Giles,  fastening  on  again. 

"  O,  indeed  ?  "  said  Kate,  dryly. 

This  piece  of  unwonted  satire 
launched,  and  Giles  not  visibly  blast- 
ed, she  sat  down  quietly  and  cried. 

Her  mother  came  in  almost  at  that 
moment,  and  Giles  hurled  himself  un- 
der the  table,  and  there  glared. 

"  What  is  to  do  now  ?  "  said  the 
dame,  sharply.  Then  turning  her 
experienced  eyes  from  Kate  to  Giles, 
and  observing  the  position  he  had 
taken  up,  and  a  sheepish  expression, 
she  hinted  at  cuffing  of  ears. 

"Nay,  mother,"  said  the  girl ;  "it 
was  but  a  foolish  word  Giles  spoke. 
I  had  not  noticed  it  at  another  time ; 
but  I  was  tired  and  in  care  for  Gerard, 
you  know." 

"  Let  no  one  be  in  care  for  me," 
said  a  faint  voice  at  the  door,  and  in 
tottered  Gerard,  pale,  dusty,  and 
worn  out ;  and,  amidst  uplifted  hands 
and  cries  of  delight,  curiosity,  and 
anxiety  mingled,  dropped  exhausted 
into  the  nearest  chair. 

Beating  Rotterdam,  like  a  covert, 
for  Margaret,  and  the  long  joiirney 
afterwards,  had  fairly  knocked  Gerard 
up.  But  elastic  youth  soon  revived, 
and  behold  him  the  centre  of  an  eager 
circle.  First  of  all  they  must  hear 
about  the  prizes.  Then  Gerard  told 
them  he  had  been  admitted  to  see  the 
competitors'  works  all  laid  out  in  an 
enormous  hall  before  the  judges  pro- 
nounced. "  0  mother  !  O  Kate  ; 
when  I  saw  the  goldsmiths'  work,  I 
had  like  to  have  fallen  on  the  floor. 
I  thought  not  all  the  goldsmiths  on 
earth  had  so  much  gold,  silver,  jewels, 
and  craft  of  design  and  facture.  But, 
vn  sooth,  all  the  arts  are  divine." 

Then,  to  please  the  females,  he  de- 
scribed to  them  the  reliquaries,  fereto- 
ries, calices,  crosiers,  crosses,  pyxes, 
monstrances,  and  other  wonders  ec- 
clesiastical, and  the  goblets,  hanaps, 
watches,  clocks,  chains,  brooches,  &c., 
so  tiiat  their  mouths  watered. 

"  But,  Kate,  when  I  came  to  the 


illuminated  work  from  Ghent  and 
Bruges,  my  heart  sank.  Mine  was 
dirt  by  the  side  of  it.  For  the  lirst  min- 
ute I  could  almost  have  cried  ;  but  I 
prayed  for  a  better  spirit,  and  present- 
ly I  was  able  to  enjoy  them,  and  thank 
God  for  these  lovely  works,  and  for 
those  skilful,  patient  craftsmen,  whom 
I  own  my  masters.  Well,  the  colored 
work  was  so  beautiful  I  forgot  all 
about  the  black  and  white.  But,  next 
day,  when  all  the  other  prizes  had 
been  given,  they  came  to  the  writing, 
and  whose  name  think  you  was  called 
first?" 

"  Yours,"  said  Kate. 

The  others  laughed  her  to  scorn. 

"  You  may  well  laugh,"  said  Ge- 
rard, "  but  for  all  that  Gerard  Elias- 
socn  of  Tergou  was  the  name  the 
herald  shouted.  I  stood  stupid ;  they 
thrust  me  forward.  Evei'y  thing  swam 
before  my  eyes.  I  found  myself  kneel- 
ing on  a  cushion  at  the  feet  of  the 
duke.  He  said  something  to  me,  but 
I  was  so  fluttered  I  could  not  answer 
him.  So  then  he  put  his  hand  to  his 
side  and  did  not  draw  a  glaive  and 
cut  off"  my  dull  head,  but  gave  me  a 
gold  medal,  and  there  it  is."  There 
was  a  yell  and  almost  a  scramble. 
"  And  then  he  gave  me  fifteen  great 
bright  golden  angels.  1  had  seen  one 
before,  but  I  never  handled  one.  Hero 
they  are." 

"  O  Gerard  !  O  Gerard  !  " 

"  There  is  one  for  you,  our  eldest ; 
and  one  for  you,  Sybrandt,  and  for 
you.  Little  Mischief;  and  two  for 
thee.  Little  Lily,  because  God  hath 
aiflicted  thee  ;  and  one  for  myself  to 
buy  colors  and  vellum ;  .and  nine  for 
her  that  nursed  us  all,  and  risked  the 
two  crowns  upon  poor  Gerard's 
h.and." 

The  gold  drew  out  their  charac- 
ters. Cornelis  and  Sybrandt  clutched 
each  his  coin  with  one  glare  of  greed- 
iness and  another  glare  of  envy  at 
Kate,  who  had  got  two  pieces.  Giles 
seized  his  and  rolled  it  along  the  floor 
and  gambolled  after  it.  Kate  put 
down  her  crutches  and  sat  down,  and 
held  out  her  little  arms  to  Gerard  with 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


27 


a  heavenly  gesture  of  love  and  tender- 
ness, and  the  mother,  fairly  benumbed 
at  first  by  the  sht)wer  uf  gold  that  fell 
on  her  apron,  now  eried  out,  "  Leave 
kissing  him,  Kate,  he  is  my  son,  not 
yours.  Ah,  (ierard,  my  boy  !  I  have 
not  loved  you  as  you  deserved." 

Then  Gerard  threw  himself  on  his 
knees  beside  her,  and  she  flung  her 
arms  round  him  and  wept  for  joy  and 
pride  upon  his  neck. 

"  Good  lad  !  good  lad  !  "  cried  the 
hosier,  with  some  emotion.  "  I  must 
go  and  tell  the  neighbors.  Lend  me 
the  medal,  Gerard,  I  '11  show  it  my 
good  friend,  Peter  Buyskens ;  he  is 
ever  regaling  me  with  how  his  son 
Jorian  won  the  tin  mug  a  shooting  at 
the  butts." 

"  Ay,  do,  my  man ;  and  show 
Peter  Buyskens  one  of  the  angels. 
Tell  him  there  are  fourteen  more 
where  that  came  from.  Mind  you 
bring  it  me  back  !  " 

"  Stay  a  minute,  father,  there  is 
better  news  behind,"  said  Gerard, 
flushing  with  joy  at  the  joy  he  caused. 

"  Better  !     Better  than  this  I  " 

Then  Gerard  told  his  interview 
with  the  countess,  and  the  house  rang 
with  joy. 

"  Now,  God  bless  the  good  lady, 
and  bless  the  Dame  Van  Eyck !  A 
benefice  ?  our  son !  My  cares  are  at 
an  end.  Eli,  my  good  friend  and 
master,  now  we  two  can  die  happy 
whenever  our  time  comes.  This  dear 
boy  will  take  our  place,  and  none  of 
these  loved  ones  will  want  a  home  or 
a  friend." 

From  that  liour  Gerard  was  looked 
upon  as  the  stay  of  the  family.  He 
was  a  son  apart,  Ijut  in  another  sense. 
lie  was  always  in  the  right,  and  noth- 
ing too  good  for  him.  Cornells  and 
Sybrantlt  became  more  and  more  jeal- 
ous of  him,  and  longed  for  the  daj'  he 
should  go  to  his  benefice  :  they  would 
get  rid  of  the  favorite,  and  his  rever- 
ence's purse  would  be  open  to  them. 
With  these  views  he  co-o])erated.  The 
wound  love  had  given  him  throbbed 
duller  and  duller.  His  success  and 
tho  aitectioa   and   admiration  of  his 


parents  made  him  think  more  highly 
of  himself,  and  resent  with  moresjjirit 
Margaret's  ingratitude  and  discour- 
tesy. For  all  that,  she  had  power  to 
cool  him  towards  the  rest  of  her  sex, 
and  now  for  every  reason  he  wished 
to  be  ordained  ])riest  as  soon  as  he 
could  pass  the  intermediate  orders. 
He  knew  the  Vulgate  already  better 
than  most  of  the  clergy,  and  stud- 
ied the  rubric  and  the  dogmas  of  the 
church  with  his  friends  the  monks; 
and,  the  first  time  the  bishop  came 
that  way,  he  applied  to  be  admitted 
"  exorcist,"  the  third  step  in  holy  or- 
ders. The  bishop  questioned  him, 
and  ordained  him  at  once.  He  had  to 
kneel,  and,  after  a  short  prayer,  the 
bishop  delivered  to  him  a  little  MS. 
full  of  exorcisms,  and  said  :  "  Take 
this,  Gerard,  and  have  power  to  lay 
hands  on  the  possessed,  whether  bap- 
tized or  catechumens  !  "  and  he  took 
it  reverently,  and  went  home  invested 
by  the  church  with  power  to  cast  out 
demons. 

Returning  home  from  the  church,  he 
was  met  by  little  Kate  on  her  crutches. 

"  O  Gerard  !  who  think  you  hath 
sent  to  our  house  seeking  you  i  —  the 
burgomaster  himself" 

"  Ghj-sbrecht  Van  Swieten  "?  What 
would  he  with  me  ?  " 

"Nay,  Gerard,  I  know  not.  But 
he  seems  urgent  to  see  you.  You  are 
to  go  to  his  house  on  the  instant." 

"  Well,  he  is  the  burgomaster  :  I 
will  go  :  but  it  likes  me  not.  Kate,  I 
have  seen  him  cast  such  a  look  on  me 
as  no  friend  casts.  No  matter  ;  such 
looks  forewarn  the  wise.  To  be  sure 
he  knows  —  " 

"  Knows  what,  Gerard  1  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  Nothing  ?  " 

"  Kate,  1  '11  go." 


CHAPTER   V. 

Ghysbrecht  van  Swieten  was 
an  artful  man.  He  opened  on  tho 
novice  with  something  quite  wide  of 


28 


THE   CLOISTER  AND   THE  HEARTH. 


the  mark  he  was  really  aiming  at. 
"  The  town  records,"  said  he,  "  arc 
crabbedly  written,  and  the  ink  rusty 
with  age."  He  oftercd  Gerard  the 
honor  of  transcribing  them  i'air. 

Gerard  inquired  what  he  was  to  be 
paid. 

Ghysbrecht  offered  a  sum  that  would 
have  just  purchased  the  pens,  ink,  and 
parchment. 

"  But,  burgomaster,  my  labor  ? 
Here  is  a  year's  work." 

"  Your  labor  ?  Call  you  marking 
parchment  labor  ?  Little  sweat  goes 
to  that,  I  trow." 

"  'T  is  labor,  and  skilled  labor  to 
boot ;  and  that  is  better  paid  in  all 
crafts  than  rude  labor,  sweat  or  no 
sweat.     Besides,  there  's  my  time." 

"  Your  time  f  Why,  what  is  time 
to  you,  at  two-and-twenty  ?  "  Then 
fixing  his  eyes  keenly  on  Gerard,  to 
mark  the  effect  of  his  words,  he  said  : 
"  Say,  rather,  you  are  idle  grown. 
You  are  in  love.  Your  body  is  with 
these  chanting  monks,  but  your  heart 
is  with  Peter  Brandt  and  his  red- 
haired  girl." 

"  I  know  no  Peter  Brandt." 

This  denial  confirmed  Ghysbrecht's 
suspicion  that  the  caster-out  of  demons 
was  playing  a  deep  game. 

"  Ye  lie  !  "  he  shouted.  "  Did  I  not 
find  you  at  her  elbow,  on  the  road  to 
Rotterdam  ?  " 

"  Ah  ! " 

"  Ah  !  And  you  were  seen  at  Sev- 
enbergen  but  t'other  day." 

"  Was  I  -i  " 

"  Ay  ;  and  at  Peter's  house." 

"  At  Sevenbergen  ? " 

"  Ay,  at  Sevenbergen." 

Now  this  was  what  in  modem  days 
is  called  a  draw.  It  was  a  guess,  put 
boldly  forth  as  fact,  to  elicit  by  the 
young  man's  answer  whether  he  had 
been  there  lately  or  not. 

The  result  of  the  artifice  surprised 
the  crafty  one.  Gerard  started  up  in 
a  strange  state  of  nervous  excite- 
ment. 

"  Burgomaster,"  said  he,  with  trem- 
bling voice,  "  I  have  not  been  at  Scv- 
enbCTgen  this  three  years  and  I  knew 


not  the  name  of  those  you  saw  mo 
■with,  nor  where  they  dwelt ;  but,  as 
my  time  is  precious,  though  you  value 
it  not,  give  you  good  day."  And  he 
darted  out,  Asith  his  eyes  sparkling. 

Ghysbrecht  started  up  in  huge  ire; 
but  he  sank  into  his  chair  again. 

"  He  fears  me  not.  He  knowa 
something,  if  not  all." 

Then  he  called  hastily  to  his  trusty 
servant,  and  almost  dragged  him  to  a 
window. 

"  See  you  yon  man  ?  "  he  cried. 
"  Haste.  Follow  him  !  But  let  him 
not  see  you.  He  is  young,  but  old  in 
craft.  Keep  him  in  sight  all  day. 
Let  me  know  whither  he  goes,  and 
what  he  docs." 

It  was  night  when  the  servant  re- 
turned. 

"  Well  ?  well  ?  "  cried  Van  Swieten, 
eagerly. 

"  Master,  the  young  man  went  from 
you  to  Sevenbergen." 

Ghysbrecht  groaned. 

"  To  the  house  of  Peter  the  Magi- 
cian." 


CHAPTER   VI. 

"  Look  into  your  own  heart  and 
write  !  "  said  Herr  Cant ;  and  earth's 
cuckoos  echoed  the  cry.  Look  into 
the  Rhine  where  it  is  deepest,  and  the 
Thames  where  it  is  thickest,  and  paint 
the  bottom.  Lower  a  bucket  into  a 
well  of  self-deception,  and  what  comes 
up  must  be  immortal  truth,  must  n't 
it  f  Now,  in  the  first  place  no  son  of 
Adam  ever  reads  his  own  heart  at  all, 
except  by  the  habit  acquired,  and  the 
light  gained,  from  some  years'  perusal 
of  other  hearts  ;  and  even  then,  with 
his  acquired  sagacity  and  reflected 
light,  he  can  but  spell  and  decipher 
his  own  heart,  not  read  it  fluently 
Half-way  to  Sevenbergen  Gerard 
looked  into  his  own  heart,  and  asked 
it  why  he  was  going  to  Sevenbergen. 
His  heart  replied  without  a  moment's 
hesitation,  "  We  are  going  out  of  curi- 
osity, to  know  why  she  jilted  us,  and  ta 


THE   CLOISTER  AND   THE  HEARTH. 


29 


8ho\r  her  it  lias  not  broken  our  licarts, 
anil  that  we  arc  quite  eontent  witli 
our  lionors  and  our  benefice  in  pro- 
s/iirfit,  and  don't  want  her  nor  any  of 
lier  tickle  sex." 

He  soon  found  out  Peter  Brandt's 
cottage-,  and  there  sat  a  fjirl  in  tlie 
doonvay,  plying  her  needle,  and  a 
stalwart  tigure  leaned  on  a  long  bow 
and  talked  to  her.  Gerard  felt  an 
unaccountable  pang  at  the  sight  of 
him.  However,  the  man  turned  out 
to  be  past  fifty  years  of  age,  an  old 
soldier,  whom  Gerard  remembered  to 
have  seen  shoot  at  the  butts  with  ad- 
mirable force  and  skill.  Another 
minute  and  the  youth  stood  before 
them.  Margaret  looked  up  and 
dropped  her  work,  and  uttered  a 
faint  cry,  and  was  white  and  red  by 
turns.  But  these  signs  of  emotion 
were  swiftly  dismissed,  and  she  turned 
far  more  chill  and  indiftcrent  than 
she  would  if  she  had  not  betrayed 
this  agitation. 

"  What !  is  it  you,  Master  Gerard? 
What  on  earth  brings  you  here,  I 
wonder  ?  " 

"  I  was  passing  by  and  saw  you  ; 
so  I  thought  I  would  give  you  good 
day,  and  ask  after  your  father." 

"  My  father  is  well.  He  will  be 
here  anon." 

"  Then  I  may  as  well  stay  till  he 
comes." 

"  As  you  will.  Good  Martin,  step 
into  the  village  and  tell  my  father 
here  is  a  friend  of  his." 

"  And  not  of  yours." 

"  My  father's  friends  are  mine." 

"  That  is  doubtful.  It  was  not 
like  a  friend  to  promise  to  wait  for 
me,  and  then  make  off  the  moment 
my  back  was  turned.  Cruel  Marga- 
ret !  you  little  know  how  I  searched 
the  town  for  you ;  how  for  want  of 
you  nothing  was  pleasant  to  me." 

"  These  are  idle  woi'ds  ;  if  you  had 
desired  my  father's  company,  or 
mine,  you  would  have  come  back. 
There  t  had  a  bed  laid  for  you,  sir, 
at  my  cousin's,  and  he  would  have 
m:ule  much  of  you,  and,  who  knows  ? 
I  niiglit  have  made  much  of  you  too. 


I  was  in  the  humor  that  day.  You 
will  not  catch  me  in  the  same  mind 
again,  neither  you  nor  any  young 
man,  I  wan-ant  me." 

"  Margaret,  I  came  back  the  mo- 
ment the  countess  let  me  go ;  but  you 
were  not  there." 

"  Nay,  you  did  not,  or  you  had 
seen  Ilans  Cloterman  at  our  table; 
we  left  him  to  bring  you  on." 

"  I  saw  no  one  there,  but  only  a 
drunken  man  that  had  just  tumbled 
down." 

"At  our  table  ?  How  was  he  clad  ?  " 

"  Nay,  I  took  little  heed  :  in  sad- 
colored  garb." 

At  this  Margaret's  face  gradually 
warmed ;  but  presently,  assuming 
incredulity  and  severity,  she  put 
many  shrewd  questions,  all  of  which 
Gerard  answered  most  loyally.  Fi- 
nally, the  clouds  cleared,  and  they 
guessed  how  the  misunderstanding 
had  come  about.  Then  came  a  re- 
vulsion of  tenderness,  all  the  more 
powerful  that  they  had  done  each 
other  wrong ;  and  then,  more  danger- 
ous still,  came  mutual  confessions. 
Neither  had  been  happy  since ;  neither 
ever  would  have  been  happy  but  for 
this  fortunate  meeting. 

And  Gerard  found  a  MS.  Vulgate 
lying  open  on  the  table,  and  pounced 
upon  it  like  a  hawk.  MSS.  were  his 
dehght ;  but  before  he  coidd  get  to  it 
two  white  hands  c[uickly  came  flat 
upon  the  page,  and  a  red  face  over 
them. 

"  Nay,  take  away  your  hands, 
Margaret,  that  I  may  see  where  you 
are  reading,  and  I  will  read  there  too 
at  home  ;  so  shall  my  soul  meet  yours 
in  the  sacred  page.  You  will  not  ? 
Nay,  then,  I  must  kiss  them  away." 
And  he  kissed  them  so  often,  that 
for  very  shame  they  were  fain  to 
withdraw,  and,  lo  !  the  sacred  book 
lay  open  at 

"An  apple  of  goUl  in  a  network  of  silver." 

"  There,  now,"  said  she,  "  I  had 
been  hunting  for  it  ever  so  long,  and 
found  it  but  even  now,  —  and  to  bo 
caucht!  "  and  with  a  touch  of  incon. 


30 


THE   CLOISTER  AND  THE   HEARTH. 


Bistency  she  pointed  it  out  to  Gerard 
with  her  white  linjier. 

"  Ay,"  said  he,  "  but  to-day  it  is  all 
hidden  in  that  great  cap." 

"  It  is  a  comely  cap,  I  'm  told  by 
some." 

"Maybe:  but  what  it  hides  is 
beautiful." 

"  It  is  not :  it  is  hideous." 

"  Well,  it  was  beautiful  at  Rotter- 
dam." 

"  Ay,  everything  was  beautiful  that 
day  "  (with  a  little  sigh). 

And  now  Peter  came  in,  and  wel- 
comed Gerard  cordially,  and  would 
have  him  to  stay  supper.  And  Mar- 
garet disappeared  ;  and  Gerard  had  a 
nice  learned  chat  with  Peter;  and 
Margaret  reappeared  with  her  hair  in 
her  silver  net,  and  shot  a  glance  half 
arch,  half  coy,  and  glided  about  them 
and  spread  supper,  and  beamed 
bright  with  gayety  and  happiness. 
And  in  the  cool  evening  Gerard 
coaxed  her  out,  and  she  objected, 
and  came  ;  and  coaxed  her  on  to  the 
road  to  Tergou,  and  she  declined, 
and  came,  and  there  they  strolled 
up  and  do^vn,  hand  in  hand ;  and 
when  he  must  go  they  pledged  each 
other  never  to  quaiTel  or  misunder- 
stand one  another  again ;  and  they 
sealed  the  promise  with  a  long,  lov- 
ing kiss,  and  Gerard  went  home  on 
wings. 

From  that  day  Gerard  spent  most 
of  his  evenings  with  Margaret,  and 
the  attachment  deepened  and  deepened 
on  both  sides  till  the  hours  they  spent 
together  were  the  hours  they  lived ; 
the  rest  they  counted  and  underwent. 
And  at  the  outset  of  this  deep  attach- 
ment all  went  smoothly;  obstacles 
there  were,  but  they  seemed  distant 
and  small  to  the  eyes  of  hope,  youth, 
and  love.  The  feelings  and  passions 
of  so  many  persons,  that  this  attach- 
ment woiTld  thwart,  gave  no  warning 
smoke  to  show  their  volcanic  nature 
and  power.  The  course  of  true  love 
ran  smoothly,  placidly,  until  it  had 
drawn  these  two  young  hearts  into 
its  current  forever.     And  then  — 


CHAPTER  Vn. 

One  bright  morning  unwonted  vel 
vet  shone,  unwonted  feathers  waved, 
and  horses'  hoofs  glinted  and  rang 
through  the  streets  of  Tergou,  and 
the  windows  and  balconies  were 
studded  with  wondering  faces.  The 
French  ambassador  was  riding  through 
to  sport  in  the  neighboring  forest. 

Besides  his  own  suite  he  was  attend- 
ed by  several  servants  of  the  Uuke 
of  Burgundy,  lent  to  do  him  honor 
and  minister  to  his  pleasure.  The 
duke's  tumbler  rode  before  him  with 
a  grave,  sedate  majesty,  that  made  his 
more  noble  companions  seem  light, 
frivolous  persons.  But  ever  and 
anon,  when  respect  and  awe  neared 
the  oppressive,  he  rolled  off  his  horse 
so  ignobly  and  funnily  that  even  the 
ambassador  was  fain  to  burst  out 
laughing.  He  also  climbed  up  again 
by  the  tail  in  a  way  provoi'ative  of 
mirth,  and  so  he  played  his  part. 
Towards  the  rear  of  the  pageant  lude 
one  that  excited  more  attention  still, 
—  the  duke's  leopard.  A  huntsman, 
mounted  on  a  Flemish  horse  of  pro- 
digious size  and  power,  carried  a 
long  box  fastened  to  the  rider's  loins 
by  straps  curiousl}-  contrived,  and  on 
this  box  sat  a  bright  leopard  crouch- 
ing. She  was  chained  to  the  hunts- 
man. The  people  admired  her  glossy 
hide  and  spots,  and  pressed  near,  and 
one  or  two  were  for  feeling  her,  and 
pulling  her  tail ;  then  the  huntsman 
shouted  in  a  terrible  voice,  "  Beware ! 
At  Antwerp  one  did  but  throw  a 
handful  of  dust  at  her,  and  the  duke 
made  dust  of  him." 

"  Gramercy ! " 

"  I  speak  sooth.  The  good  duke 
shut  him  up  in  pri.son,  in  a  cell  under 
ground,  and  the  rats  cleaned  the  flesh 
off  his  bones  in  a  night.  Sensed  him 
right  for  molesting  the  poor  thing." 
There  was  a  murmur  of  fear,  and  the 
Tergovians  shrank  from  tickling  the 
leopard  of  their  sovereign. 

But  an  incident  followed  that  raised 
their  spirits  again.  The  duke's  giant, 
a  Hungarian  seven  feet  four  inches 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


31 


high,  brought  up  the  rear.  This  enor- 
mous creature  had,  like  some  other 
giants,  a  treble,  tiuty  voice  of  little 
power.  He  was  a  vain  fellow,  and 
not  conscious  of  this  nor  any  defect. 
Now  it  happened  he  caught  sight  of 
Giles  sitting  on  the  top  of  the  balcony ; 
so  he  stopped  and  began  to  make  fun 
of  him. 

"  Hallo  !  brother  !  "  squeaked  he, 
"  I  had  nearly  passed  without  seeing 
thee." 

"  You  are  plain  enough  to  see," 
■bellowed  Giles,  in  his  bass  tones. 

"  Come  on  my  shoulder,  brother," 
squeaked  Titan,  and  held  out  a  shoul- 
der-of-mutton  fist  to  help  him  down. 

"  If  I  do  I  '11  cufF  your  ears," 
roared  the  dwarf. 

The  giant  saw  the  homuncule  was 
Irascible,  and  played  upon  him,  being 
encouraged  thereto  by  the  shouts  of 
laughter.  For  he  did  not  see  that  the 
people  were  laughing,  not  at  his  wit, 
but  at  the  ridiculous  incongruity  of 
the  two  voices,  —  the  gigantic  feeble 
fife,  and  the  petty,  deep,  loud  drum, 
—  the  mountain  delivered  of  a  squeak, 
and  the  molehill  belching  thunder. 

The  singular  duet  came  to  as  sin- 
gular an  end.  Giles  lost  all  patience 
and  self-command,  and  being  a  crea- 
ture devoid  of  fear,  and  in  a  rage  to 
boot,  he  actually  dropjjed  upon  the 
giant's  neck,  seized  his  hair  with  one 
hand,  and  punched  his  head  with  the 
other.  The  giant's  first  impulse  was 
to  laugh,  but  the  weight  and  rapidity 
of  the  blows  soon  corrected  that  in- 
clination. 

"  He  !  he  !  Ah !  ha !  hallo  !  oh !  oh  ! 
Holy  saints !  here !  help  !  or  I  must 
throttle  the  imp.  I  can't!  I '11  split 
your  skull  against  the  — "  and  he 
made  a  wild  run  backwards  at  the 
balcony.  Giles  saw  his  danger,  seized 
the  balcony  in  time  with  both  hands, 
and  whipped  over  it  just  as  the  giant's 
head  came  against  it  with  a  stunning 
crack.  The  })eo])le  roareil  with  laugh- 
ter and  exultation  at  the  address  of 
their  little  champion.  The  indignant 
giant  seized  two  of  the  laughers, 
knocked  them  together  like  dumb- 
?.* 


bells,  shook  them  and  strewed  them 
flat,  (Catherine  shrieked  and  threw 
her  apron  over  Giles,)  then  strode 
wratht'ully  away  after  the  party.  This 
incident  had  consequences  no  one  at 
present  foresaw.  Its  immediate  re- 
sults were  agreeable.  The  Tergovians 
turned  proud  of  Giles,  and  listened 
with  more  afl'ability  to  his  prayers  for 
parchment.  For  he  drove  a  regular 
trade  with  his  brother  Gerard  in  this 
article.  Went  about  and  begged  it 
gratis,  and  Gerard  gave  him  coppers 
for  it. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day, 
Catherine  and  her  daughter  were  chat- 
ting together  about  their  favorite 
theme,  Gerard,  his  goodness,  his  I  one- 
fice,  and  the  brightened  prospects  of 
the  whole  family. 

Their  good  luck  had  come  to  them 
in  the  very  shajje  they  would  have 
chosen  ;  besides  the  advantages  of  a 
benefice  such  as  the  Countess  Cha- 
rolois  would  not  disdain  to  give,  there 
was  the  feminine  delight  at  having  a 
priest,  a  holy  man,  in  their  own  family. 
"  He  will  marry  Cornells,  and  Sy- 
brandt :  for  they  can  wed  (good  house- 
wives) now,  if  they  will.  Gerard  will 
take  care  of  you  and  Giles  when  wo 
are  gone." 

"  Yes,  mother,  and  we  can  confess 
to  him  instead  of  to  a  stranger,"  said 
Kate. 

"  Ay,  girl !  and  he  can  give  the 
sacred  oil  to  your  father  and  me,  and 
close  our  eyes  when  our  time  comes." 

"  0  mother  !  not  for  many,  many 
years,  I  do  pray  Heaven.  Pray  speak 
not  of  that,  it  always  makes  me  sad. 
I  hope  to  go  before  you,  mother,  dear. 
No  ;  let  us  be  gay  to-day.  I  am  out 
of  pain,  mother,  quite  out  of  all  pain ; 
it  does  seem  so  strange ;  and  I  feel  so 
bright  and  happy,  that  —  mother,  can 
you  keep  a  secret  ?  " 

"  Nobody  better,  child.  Why,  you 
know  I  can." 

"  Then  I  will  show  you  something 
so  beautiful.  You  never  saw  the  like, 
I  trow.  Only  Gerard  must  never 
know ;  for  sure  he  means  to  surprise 


82 


THE  CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


D9  with  it;  he  covers  it  up  so,  and 
sometimes  he  carries  it  away  al- 
together." 

Kate  took  her  crutches,  and  moved 
slowly  away,  leaving  her  mother  in 
an  exalted  state  of  curiosity.  She 
soon  returned  with  something  in  a 
cloth,  uncovered  it,  and  there  was  a 
lovely  picture  of  the  Virgin,  with  all 
her  insignia,  and  wearing  her  tiara 
over  a  wealth  of  beautiful  hair,  which 
flowed  loose  over  her  shoulders.  Cath- 
erine, at  first,  was  struck  with  awe. 

"  It  is  herself,"  she  cried ;  "  it  is 
the  Queen  of  Heaven.  I  never  saw 
one  like  her  to  my  mind  before." 

"And  her  eyes,  mother;  lifted  to 
the  sky,  as  if  they  belonged  there,  and 
not  to  a  mortal  creature.  And  her 
beautiful  hair  of  burning  gold." 

"  And  to  think  I  have  a  son  that 
can  make  the  saints  live  again  upon  a 
piece  of  wood ! " 

"  The  reason  is,  he  is  a  young  saint 
himself,  mother.  He  is  too  good  for 
this  world  ;  he  is  here  to  portray  the 
blessed,  and  then  to  go  away  and  be 
with  them  forever." 

Ere  they  had  half  done  admiring 
it,  a  strange  voice  was  heard  at  the 
door.  By  one  of  the  furtive  instincts 
of  their  sex  they  hastily  hid  the  pic- 
ture in  the  cloth,  though  there  was 
no  need.  And  the  next  moment  in 
came,  casting  his  eyes  furtively  around, 
a  man  that  had  not  entered  the  house 
this  ten  years,  —  Ghysbrecht  Van 
Swieten. 

The  two  women  were  so  taken  by 
surprise,  that  they  merely  stared  at 
him  and  at  one  another,  and  said, 
"  The  burgomaster ! "  in  a  tone  so 
expressive,  that  Ghysbrecht  felt  com- 
pelled to  answer  it. 

"  Yes  !  I  own,  the  last  time  I  came 
here  was  not  on  a  friendly  errand. 
Men  love  their  o^vn  interest, —  Eli's 
and  mine  were  contraiy.  Well,  let 
this  visit  atone  the  last.  To-day  I 
come  on  your  business,  and  none  of 
mine."  Catherine  and  her  daughter 
exchanged  a  swift  glance  of  contempt- 
uous incredulity.  They  knew  the  man 
better  than  he  thought. 


"  It  is  about  your  son  Gerard." 

"Ay!  ay!  you  want  him  to  wor^ 
for  the  town  all  for  nothing.  He 
told  us." 

"  I  come  on  no  such  errand.  It  is 
to  let  you  know  he  has  fallen  into  bad 
hands." 

"  Now  Heaven  and  the  saints  for- 
bid !  Man,  torture  not  a  mother ! 
Speak  out,  and  quickly :  speak  ere 
you  have  time  to  coin  falsehood :  we 
know  thee." 

Ghysbrecht  turned  pale  at  this  af- 
front, and  spite  mingled  with  the 
other  motives  that  brought  him  here. 
"  Thus  it  is  then,"  said  he,  grinding 
his  teeth,  and  speaking  very  fast. 
"  Your  son  Gerard  is  more  like  to  be 
father  of  a  family  than  a  priest ;  he  is 
forever  with  Margaret,  Peter  Brandt's 
red-haired  girl,  and  loves  her  like  a 
cow  her  calf." 

Mother  and  daughter  both  Imrst 
out  laughing.  Ghysbrecht  stared  at 
them. 

"  What,  you  knew  it  1  " 

"  Carry  this  tale  to  those  who  know 
not  my  son  Gerard.  Women  are 
naught  to  him." 

"  Other  women,  mayhap.  But  this 
one  is  the  apple  of  his  eye  to  him,  or 
will  be,  if  you  part  them  not,  and 
soon.  Come,  dame,  make  me  not 
waste  time  and  friendly  counsel :  my 
sen'ant  has  seen  them  together  a 
score  of  times,  handed,  and  reading 
babies  in  one  another's  eyes  like  — 
you  know,  dame  —  you  have  been 
young  too." 

"  Girl,  I  am  ill  at  ease.  Yes,  I 
have  been  young,  and  know  how  blind 
the  young  and  foolish  are.  My  heart ! 
He  has  turned  me  sick  in  a  moment. 
Kate,  if  it  should  be  true." 

"  Nay,  nay  !  "  cried  Kate,  eagerly. 
"  Gerard  might  love  a  young  woman  : 
all  young  men  do  :  I  can't  find  what 
they  see  in  them  to  love  so  :  but  if  he 
did  he  would  let  us  know  ;  he  would 
not  deceive  us.  You  wicked  man  ! 
No,  dear  mother,  look  not  so  !  Ge- 
rard is  too  good  to  love  a  creature  of 
earth.  His  love  is  for  Our  Lady  and 
the  saints.    Ah !  I  will  show  you  the 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


33 


picture,  —  there-  if  his  heart  Was 
ettrthly,  could  he  paint  the  Queen  of 
Heaven  like  that  —  look  !  look  !  " 
and  she  held  the  picture  out  trium- 
phantly, and,  more  radiant  and  beauti- 
ful in  this  moment  of  enthusiasm  than 
ever  dead  picture  was  or  will  be,  over- 
powered the  burgomaster  with  her 
eloquence  and  her  feminine  proof  of 
Grerard's  purity.  His  eyes  and  mouth 
opened,  and  remained  open :  in  which 
state  they  kept  turning,  face  and  all, 
as  if  on  a  pivot,  from  tlie  picture  to 
the  women,  and  from  the  women  to 
the  picture. 
"  Why,  it  is  herself,"  he  gasped. 
"  Is  n't  it  1 "  cried  Kate,  and  her 
hostility  was  softened.  "  You  ad- 
mire it  ?  I  forgive  you  for  frighten- 
ing us." 

"  Am  I  in  a  madhouse  ?  "  said 
Ghysbrecht  Van  Swieten,  thoroughly 
puzzled.  "  You  show  me  a  picture  of 
the  girl ;  and  you  say  he  painted  it ; 
and  that  is  a  proof  he  cannot  love 
her.  Why,  they  all  paint  their  sweet- 
hearts, painters  do." 

"  A  picture  of  the  girl  ?  "  exclaimed 

Kate,  shocked.      "  Fie  !    this    is    no 

girl ;  this  is  our  blessed  Lady." 

"  No  ;  no,  it  is  Margaret  Brandt." 

"O  blind!      It    is    the   Queen   of 

Heaven." 

"  No  ;  only  of  Sevenbergen  tillage." 
"  Profane  man !  behold  her  crown  !" 
"  Silly  child  !  look  at  her  red  hair  ! 
W^ould  the  Virgin  be  seen  in  red  hair  ? 
—  she  who  had  the  pick  of  all  the 
colors  ten  thousand  years  before  the 
world  began." 

At  this  moment  an  anxious  face 
was  insinuated  round  the  edge  of  the 
open  door :  it  was  their  neighbor 
Peter  Buyskens. 

"  What  is  to  do  ?  "  said  he,  in  a 
cautious  wliisper.  "  We  can  hear  you 
all  across  the  street.  What  on  earth 
is  to  do  ?  " 

"  0  neighbor !  WHiat  is  to  do  ? 
Why,  here  is  the  burgomaster  black- 
ening our  Gerard." 

"  Stop  !  "  cried  Van  Swieten.  "  Pe- 
ter Buyskens  is  come  in  the  nick  of 
time.    He  knows  father  and  daughter 


both.     They  cast  their  glamour  on 
him." 

"  What,  is  she  a  witch,  too  ?  " 
"  Else  the  egg  takes  not  after  the 
bird.  Why  is  her  father  called  the 
magician  ?  I  tell  you  they  bewitched 
this  very  Peter  here ;  they  cast  un- 
holy spells  on  him,  and  cured  him  of 
the  colic  :  now,  Peter,  look  and  tell 
me  who  is  that  ?  and  you  be  silent, 
women,  for  a  moment,  if  you  can ; 
who  is  it,  Peter  1  " 

"  Well,  to  be  sure ! "  said  Peter,  in 
reply  :  and  his  eye  seemed  fascinated 
by  the  picture. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  repeated  Ghysbrecht, 
impetuously. 

Peter  Buyskens  smiled.  "Why, 
you  know  as  well  as  I  do  ;  hut  what 
have  they  put  a  crown  on  her  for  ?  I 
never  saw  her  in  a  crown,  for  my 
part." 

"  Man  alive !  Can't  you  open  your 
great  jaws,  and  just  speak  a  wench's 
name  plain  out  to  oblige  three  peo- 
ple ?  " 

"  I  'd  do  a  great  deal  more  to  oblige 
one  of  you  than  that,  burgomaster. 
If  it  isn't  as  natural  as  life  !  " 

"  Curse  the  man !  he  won't,  he 
won't,  —  curse  him  !  "  - 

"  Why,  what  have  I  done  now  ?  " 
"  0   sir  !  "    said   little  Kate,    "  for 
pity's  sake  tell  us  ;  are  these  the  fea- 
tures of  a  living  woman,  of — of — 
Margaret  Brandt  ? " 

"  A  mirror  is  not  truer,  mj-  little 
maid." 

"  But  is  it  she,  sir,  for  very  cer- 
tain ■} " 

"  Why,  who  else  should  it  be  ?  " 
"  Now  why  could  n't  you  say  so  at 
once  ?  "  snarled  Ghysbrecht. 

"  I  did  say  so,  as  plain  as  I  could 
speak,"  snapped  Peter ;  and  they 
growled  over  this  small  bone  of  con- 
tention so  zealously,  that  they  did 
not  see  Catherine  and  her  daughter 
had  thrown  their  aprons  over  their 
heads,  and  were  rocking  to  and  fro  in 
deep  distress.  The  next  moment 
Elias  came  in  fi'om  the  shop,  and 
stood  aghast.  Catherine,  though  her 
face  was  covered,  knew  his  footstep^ 


34 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  That  is  my  poor  man,"  sobbed 
she.  "  Tell  him,  f^ood  Peter  Buy- 
skcns,  for  I  have  not  the  cour- 
age." 

Elias  turned  pale.  The  presence 
of  tiie  hurj^omaster  in  liis  liousc,  after 
so  many  years  of  coohiess,  coupled 
with  his  wife's  and  daufjjhter's  dis- 
tress, made  him  fear  some  heavy  mis- 
fortune. 

"  Richart !  Jacob !  "  he  gasped. 

"  No  !  no  !  "  said  the  burgomaster ; 
"it  is  nearer  home,  and  nobody  is 
dead  or  dying,  old  friend." 

"  God  bless  you,  burgomaster !  All ! 
something  is  gone  off  my  breast  that 
was  like  to  choke  me.  Now,  what  is 
the  matter  1  " 

Ghysbreeht  then  told  him  all  that 
he  told  the  women,  and  showed  the 
picture  in  evidence. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  said  Eli,  profoundly 
relieved.  "  What  are  ye  roaring  and 
bellowing  for  ?  It  is  vexing,  it  is  an- 
gering, but  it  is  not  like  death  nor 
even  sickness.  Boys  will  be  boys. 
He  will  outgrow  that  disease :  't  is 
but  skin-deep." 

But  when  Ghysbreeht  told  him  that 
Margaret  was  a  girl  of  good  charac- 
ter, ■^—  that  it  was  not  to  be  supposed 
she  would  be  so  intimate  if  marriage 
had  not  been  spoken  of  between  them, 
—  his  brow  darkened. 

"  Marriage  ?  that  shall  never  be," 
said  he,  sternly.  "  I  '11  stay  that,  ay, 
by  force  if  need  be,  as  I  would  his 
hand  lifted  to  cut  his  throat.  I  'd  do 
what  old  Johu  Koestein  did  t'other 
day." 

"And  what  is  that,  in  Heaven's 
name  1  "  asked  the  mother,  suddenly 
removing  her  apron. 

It  was  the  burgomaster  who  re- 
phed : — 

"  He  made  me  shut  young  Albert 
Koestein  up  in  the  prison  of  the  Stadt- 
house  till  he  knocked  under  :  it  was  not 
long.  Forty-eight  hours,  all  alone,  on 
bread  and  water,  cooled  his  hot  stom- 
ach. "  Tell  my  father  I  am  his  hum- 
ble servant,"  says  he,  "  and  let  me 
into  the  sun  once  more,  —  the  sun  is 
worth  all  the  wenches  in  the  world.'  " 


"  O  the  cruelty  of  men  !  "  sighoi 
Catherine. 

"  As  to  that,  the  burgomaster  has  no 
choice  :  it  is  the  law.  And  if  a  father 
says,  '  Burgomaster,  lock  up  my  son,' 
he  must  do  it.  A  tine  thing  it  would 
be  if  a  father  might  not  lock  up  his 
own  son." 

"  Well,  well !  it  won't  come  to  that 
with  me  and  my  son.  He  never  dis- 
obeyed me  in  his  life  :  he  never  shall. 
Where  is  he  ?  It  is  past  supper-time. 
Where  is  he,  Kate  ?  " 

"  Alas,  I  know  not,  father." 

"  I  know,"  said  Ghysbreeht ;  "  he  is 
at  Sevenbergen.  My  senant  met  hira 
on  the  road." 

Supper  passed  in  gloomy  silence. 
Evening  descended,  —  no  Gerard  : 
eight  o'clock  came,  —  no  Gerard. 
Then  the  father  sent  all  to  bed  except 
Catherine. 

"  You  and  I  will  walk  abroad,  wife, 
and  talk  over  this  new  care." 

"  Abroad,  my  man,  at  this  time  ? 
Whither  i  " 

"  Why,  on  the  road  to  Sevenber- 
gen." 

"  O  no,  no  hasty  words,  father. 
Poor  Gerard  !  he  never  vexed  you  be- 
fore." 

"  Fear  me  not.  But  it  must  end  ; 
and  I  am  not  one  that  trusts  to-mor- 
row with  to-day's  work." 

The  old  pair  walked  hand  in  hand ; 
for,  strange  as  it  may.  appear  to  some 
of  my  readers,  the  use  of  the  elbow 
to  couples  walking  was  not  discovered 
in  Europe  till  centuries  after  this. 
They  sauntered  on  a  long  time  in  si- 
lence. The  night  was  clear  and  balmy. 
Such  nights,  calm  and  silent,  recall 
the  past  from  the  dead. 

"  It  is  many  years  since  we  walked 
so  late,  my  man,"  said  Catherine, 
softly. 

"  Ay,  sweetheart,  more  than  we 
shall  see  again.  (Is  he  never  coming, 
I  wonder  ?)  " 

"  Not  since  our  courting  days,  Eli." 

"  No.  Ay,  you  were  a  buxom  lass 
then." 

"And  you  were  a  comely  lad,  as 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


35 


ever  a  girl's  eye  stole  a  look  at.  I  do 
suppose  Gerai'd  is  with  her  now,  as 
you  used  to  be  with  me.  Nature  is 
strong,  and  the  same  in  all  our  gen- 
erations." 

"  Nay,  I  hope  he  has  left  her  by 
now,  confound  her,  or  we  shall  be 
here  all  night." 

"  Eli !  " 

"  Well,  Kate  1  " 

"  I  have  been  happy  with  you, 
sweetheart,  for  all  our  rubs,  —  much 
happier,  I  trow,  than  if  I  had  —  been 
—  a  —  a  —  nun.  You  Avon't  speak 
harshly  to  the  poor  child  ?  One  can 
be  firm  without  being  harsh." 

"  Surely." 

"  Have  you  been  happy  with  me, 
my  poor  Eli  1  " 

"  Why,  you  know  I  have.  Friends 
I  have  known,  but  none  like  thee. 
Buss  me,  wife  !  " 

"  A  heart  to  share  joy  and  grief  with 
is  a  great  comfort  to  man  or  woman. 
Is  n't  it,  Eli  ?  " 

"  It  is  so,  my  lass. 

^  It  doth  joy  double. 
And  halveth  trouble,^ 

runs  the  byword.  And  so  I  have 
found  it,  sweetheart.  Ah  !  here  comes 
the  young  fool." 

Catherine  trembled  and  held  her 
husband's  hand  tight.  The  moon  was 
bright,  but  they  were  in  the  shadow 
of  some  trees,  and  their  son  did  not 
see  them.  He  came  singing  in  the 
moonlight,  and  his  face  shining. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

While  the  burgomaster  was  ex- 
posing Gerard  at  Tergou,  Margaret 
had  a  trouble  of  her  own  at  Seven- 
bergen.  It  was  a  housewife's  distress, 
but  deeper  than  we  can  well  conceive. 
She  came  to  Martin  Wittenliaagen, 
the  old  soldier,  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  Martin,  there 's  nothing  in  the 
house,  and  Gerard  is  coming,  and  he 
is  so  thoughtless.  He  forgets  to  sup 
at  home.     When  he  gives  over  work 


then  he  runs  to  me  straiglit,  poor 
soul ;  and  often  he  comes  quite  faint. 
And  to  think  I  have  nothing  to  set 
before  my  servant  that  loves  me  so 
dear." 

Martin  scratched  his  head.  "  What 
can  I  do  ?  " 

"  It  is  Thursday  ;  it  is  your  day  to 
shoot,  —  sooth  to  say,  I  counted  on 
you  to-day." 

"  Nay,"  said  the  soldier,  "  I  may 
not  shoot  when  the  duke  or  his  friends 
are  at  the  chase  ;  read  else.  I  am  no 
scholar."  And  he  took  out  of  his 
pouch  a  parchment  with  a  grand  seal. 

It  purported  to  be  a  stipend  and  a 
license  given  by  Philip  Duke  of  Bur- 
gundy to  Martin  Wittenliaagen,  one 
of  his  archers,  in  return  for  services  in 
the  wars,  and  for  a  wound  received  at 
the  duke's  side.  The  stipend  was 
four  merks  yearly,  to  be  paid  by  the 
duke's  almoner,  and  the  license  was 
to  shoot  three  arrows  once  a  week, 
viz.  on  Thursday,  and  no  other  day, 
in  any  of  the  duke's  forest>i  in  Hol- 
land, at  any  game  but  a  seven-year 
old  buck  or  a  doe  carrying  fawn,  pro- 
viso, that  the  duke  should  not  be 
hunting  on  that  day,  or  any  of  his 
friends.  In  this  case  Martin  was 
not  to  go  and  disturb  the  woods  on 
peril  of  his  salar}^,  and  his  head,  and 
a  fine  of  a  penny. 

Margaret  sighed  and  was  silent. 

"  Come,  cheer  up,  mistress,"  said 
he,  "  for  your  sake  I  '11  peril  my  car- 
cass ;  I  have  done  that  for  many  a 
one  that  was  not  worth  your  forefin- 
ger. It  is  no  such  mighty  risk  either 
I  '11  but  step  into  the  skirts  of  the  forest, 
here.  It  is  odds  but  tliey  drive  a  hare 
or  a  fawn  within  reach  of  my  arrow." 

"  Well,  if  I  let  you  go  you  must 
promise  me  not  to  go  far,  and  not  to 
be  seen  ;  far  better  Gerard  went  sup- 
perless  than  ill  should  come  to  you, 
faithful  Martin." 

The  required  promise  given,  Mar- 
tin took  his  bow  and  three  arrows, 
and  stole  cautiously  into  the  wood  : 
it  was  scarce  a  furlong  distant.  The 
horns  were  hoard  faintly  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  all  the  game  was  afoot 


86 


THE  CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


Come,  thought  Martin,  I  shall  soon 
fill  the  pot,  and  no  one  be  the  wiser. 
He  took  his  stand  behind  a  tliick  oak 
that  commanded  a  view  of  an  open 
glade,  and  strung  his  bow,  a  truly 
formidable  weapon.  It  was  of  Eng- 
lish yew,  six  feet  two  inches  high,  and 
thick  in  proportion ;  and  Martin, 
broad-chested,  with  arms  all  iron  and 
cord,  and  used  to  the  bow  from  in- 
fancy, could  draw  a  three-foot  arrow 
to  the  head,  and,  when  it  hew,  the  eye 
could  scarce  follow  it,  and  the  bow- 
string twanged  as  musical  as  a  harp. 
This  l)ow  had  laid  many  a  stont  soldier 
low  in  the  wars  of  the  Iloecks  and 
Cabbel-jaws.  In  those  days  a  battle- 
field was  not  a  cloud  of  smoke  :  the 
combatants  were  few  but  the  deaths 
many ;  for  they  saw  what  they  were 
about,  and  fewer  bloodless  arrows 
flew  than  bloodless  bullets  now.  A 
hare  came  cantering,  then  sat  spright- 
ly, and  her  ears  made  a  capital  V. 
Martin  levelled  his  tremendous  wea- 
pon at  her  :  the  arrow  Hew,  the  string 
twanged  :  but  Martin  had  been  in  a 
hurry  to  pot  her,  and  lost  her  by  an 
inch :  the  arrow  seemed  to  hit  her, 
but  it  struck  the  ground  close  to  her 
and  passed  under  her  belly  like  a 
flash,  and  hissed  along  the  short 
grass  and  disappeared.  She  jumjied 
three  feet  perpendicular,  and  away  at 
the  top  of  her  speed.  "  Bungler  !  " 
said  Martin.  A  sure  proof  he  was 
not  an  habitual  bungler,  or  he  would 
liave  blamed  the  hare.  He  had  scarce- 
ly fitted  another  arrow  to  his  string 
when  a  wood-pigeon  settled  on  the 
very  tree  he  stood  under.  "  Aha  !  " 
thought  he,  "  you  are  small,  but 
dainty."  This  time  he  took  more 
pains ;  drew  Ids  arrow  carefully,  loosed 
it  smoothly,  and  saw  it,  to  all  appear- 
ance, go  clean  through  the  bird,  car- 
rying feathers  skyward  like  dust. 
Instead  of  falling  at  his  feet,  the  bird, 
whose  breast  was  torn,  not  fiiirly 
pierced,  fluttered  feebly  away,  and  by 
a  great  elFort  rose  above  tlie  trees, 
flew  some  fifty  yards,  and  fell  dead  at 
last ;  but  where,  he  could  not  see  for 
the  thick  foliage. 


"Luck  is  against  me,"  said  he, 
despondingly.  But  he  fitted  another 
arnnv,  anil  eyed  the  glade  keenly. 
Presently  he  heard  a  bustle  behind 
him,  and  turned  ruund  Justin  time  to 
see  a  noble  buck  cross  the  open,  but 
too  late  to  shoot  at  liim.  lie  dashed  his 
bow  down  with  an  imj)recation.  At 
that  moment  a  long,  spotted  animal, 
glided  swiftly  across  after  the  deer ; 
its  belly  seemed  to  toiicli  the  ground 
as  it  went.  Martin  took  up  his  bow 
hastily :  he  recognized  the  duke's 
leopard.  "  The  hunters  will  not  be 
far  from  her,"  said  he,  "  and  I  must 
not  be  seen.  Gerard  must  go  supper- 
less  this  night." 

He  plunged  into  the  wood,  follow- 
ing the  buck  and  leopard,  for  that  was 
his  way  home.  He  had  not  gone  far 
when  he  heard  an  unusual  sound 
ahead  of  him,  —  leaves  rustling  vio- 
lently and  the  ground  trampled.  He 
hurried  in  the  direction.  He  found 
the  leopard  on  the  bi;ek's  back,  tear- 
ing him  with  teeth  and  claw,  and 
the  buck  running  in  a  circle  and 
bounding  convulsively,  with  the  blood 
pouring  down  his  hide.  Then  Mar- 
tin formed  a  desperate  resolution  to 
have  the  venison  for  Margaret.  He 
drew  his  arrow  to  the  head,  and 
buried  it  in  the  deer,  who,  spite  of  the 
creature  on  his  back,  bounded  high 
into  the  air,  and  fell  dead.  The  leop- 
ard went  on  tearing  him  as  if  nothing 
had  happened. 

Martin  hoped  that  the  creature 
would  gorge  itself  with  blood,  and 
then  let  him  take  the  meat.  He  wait- 
ed some  minutes,  then  walked  reso- 
lutely up,  and  laid  his  hand  on  the 
buck's  leg.  The  leopard  gave  a 
frightful  growl,  and  left  off"  sucking 
blood.  She  saw  Martin's  game,  and 
was  sidky  and  on  her  guard.  What 
was  to  be  done'?  Martin  had  heard 
that  wild  creatures  cannot  stand  the 
human  eye.  Accordingly  he  stood 
erect  and  fixed  his  on  the  leopard ; 
the  leopard  returned  a  savage  glance, 
and  never  took  her  eye  otF  Martin. 
Then  Martin  continuing  to  look  the 
beast    down,   the    leopard,    brutally 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


37 


Ignorant  of  natural  history,  flew  at  his 
head  with  a  frightful  yell,  flaming 
eyes,  and  jaws  and  claws  distended. 
He  had  but  just  time  to  catch  her  by 
the  throat,  before  her  teeth  could 
crush  his  face ;  one  of  her  claws  seized 
his  shoulder  and  rent  it;  the  other, 
aimed  at  his  cheek,  would  have  been 
more  deadly  still,  but  Martin  was  old- 
fashioned,  and  wore  no  hat,  but  a 
scapulary  of  the  same  stuff  as  his  jer- 
kin, and  this  scapulary  he  had 
brought  over  his  head  like  a  hood ; 
the  brute's  claw  caught  in  the  loose 
leather.  Martin  kept  her  teeth  off 
his  face  with  great  difficulty,  and 
griped  her  throat  fiercely,  and  she 
kept  rending  his  shoulder.  It  was  like 
blunt  reaping  -  hooks  grinding  and 
tearing.  The  pain  was  fearful ;  but, 
instead  of  cowing  the  old  soldier,  it 
put  his  blood  up,  and  he  gnashed  his 
teeth  with  rage  almost  as  fierce  as 
hers,  and  squeezed  her  neck  with  iron 
force.  The  t^vo  pair  of  eyes  flared  at 
one  another,  —  and  now  the  man's 
were  almost  as  furious  as  the  brute's. 
She  found  he  was  throttling  her,  and 
made  a  wild  attempt  to  free  herself,  in 
wliich  she  dragged  his  cowl  all  over 
his  face  and  blinded  him,  and  tore 
her  claw  out  of  his  shoulder,  flesh 
and  all :  but  still  he  throttled  her, 
with  hand  and  arm  of  iron.  Present- 
ly her  long  tail,  that  was  high  in  the 
air,  went  down.  "  Alia  ! "  cried  Mar- 
tin, joyfully,  and  griped  her  like 
death ;  next,  her  body  lost  its  elas- 
ticity, and  he  held  a  choked  and  pow- 
erless thing  :  he  griped  it  still  till  all 
motion  ceased,  then  dashed  it  to  the 
earth;  then,  panting,  removed  his 
cowl :  the  leopard  lay  mute  at  his 
feet  with  tongue  protruding  and  bloody 
paw ;  and  for  the  first  time  terror  fell 
on  Martin.  "  I  am  a  dead  man  : 
I  have  slain  the  duke's  leopard." 
He  hastily  seized  a  few  handful  s  of 
leaves  and  threw  them  over  her ; 
then  shouldered  the  buck  and  stag- 
gered away,  lea^nng  a  trail  of  blood 
all  the  way,  —  his  own  and  the 
buck's.  He  burst  into  Peter's  house 
ft  horrible  figure,  bleeding  and  blood- 


stained, and  flung  the  deer's  carcass 
down. 

"  There,  no  questions,"  said  he, 
"  but  broil  me  a  steak  on 't ;  for  I  'm 
faint." 

Margaret  did  not  see  he  was  wound- 
ed :  she  thought  the  blood  was  all 
from  the  deer. 

She  busied  herself  at  the  fire, 
and  the  stout  soldier  stanched  and 
bound  his  own  wound  apart,  and 
soon  he  and  Gerard  and  Margaret 
were  supping  royally  on  broiled  ven- 
ison. 

They  were  very  merry ;  and  Ge- 
rard, with  wonderful  thoughtfulness, 
had  brought  a  flask  of  Schiedam,  and 
under  its  influence  Martin  revived, 
and  told  them  how  the  venison  was 
got ;  and  they  all  made  merry  over 
the  exploit. 

Their  mirth  was  strangely  inter- 
rupted. Margaret's  eyes  became  fixed 
and  fascinated,  and  her  cheek  pale 
with  fear.  She  gasped,  and  could 
not  speak,  but  pointed  to  the  window 
with  trembling  finger.  Their  eyes  fol- 
lowed hers,  and  there  in  the  twilight 
crouched  a  dark  form  with  eyes  like 
glow-worms. 

It  was  the  leopard. 

While  they  stood  petrified,  fascinat- 
ed by  the  eyes  of  green  fire,  there 
sounded  in  the  wood  a  single  deep 
bay.     Martin  trembled  at  it. 

"  They  have  lost  her,  and  laid  muz- 
zled bloodhounds  on  her  scent.  They 
will  find  her  here,  and  the  venison. 
Good  by,  friends,  Martin  Witten- 
haagen  ends  here." 

Gerard  seized  his  bow,  and  put  it 
into  the  soldier's  hands. 

"  Be  a  man,"  he  cried,  "  shoot  her, 
and  fling  her  into  the  wood  ere  they 
come  up.     Who  will  know  ?  " 

More  voices  of  hounds  broke  out, 
and  nearer. 

"  Curse  her !  "  cried  Martin.  "  I 
spared  her  once  ;  now  she  must  die, 
or  I,  or  lx)tli  more  likely  "  ;  and  he 
reared  his  bow,  and  drew  his  arrow 
to  the  head. 

"  Nay  !  nay  !  "  cried  Margaret,  and 
seized  the  arrow  :  it  broke  iu  half: 


38 


Tin:   CLOISTKR    AND   TIIK    flKAHTIf. 


thf  piivo«  fell  on  onrh  siiU"  tht>  Imw. 
Tilt-  iiir  itt  till-  siiiiH-  tiiiii-  tilled  with 
till!  tKii^iir-.  of  lUv  liniin(i<i  :  ihi-y  wuiv 
Imt  iiixiii  till'  M'l-ut. 

'•  NV'Imt  Imvo  von  ilont',  wmch  ' 
You  liiive  put  the  hnltt-r  rotiiui  n>_v 
tliroiit." 

"No!"  crinl  Mmx'iin't.  "I  Imvp 
siived  you  :  .Htiind  luuk  fnim  tin- win- 
il«>« ,  iMjth  !      Viiiir  kmtV.  <niii  k  !  " 

Slir  si'izofl  his  l<>ti;:-|Miiiitr<t  kiiifi*. 
iilinost  tnru  it  out  <>f  Um  (,'irtllr,  nntl 
liarti'd  from  the  room.  Thv  tiou.ic 
wuH  How  surroumliHi  with  Imyiii^ 
ilo;;>*  »ntl  Khoutint;  nirn. 

Thf  (jlow-wonn  ryw  moved  not. 


CIIAl'Tini   IX. 

M  vn<JAnK.T  rut  off  n  hugf  pint*  of 
VI  tifou,  iind  run  to  th<-  window,  and 
tlirrw  it  out  til  till-  \:T\-ru  v\v%  of  Hn-. 
'I'll!  V  iliirti'd  on  it  with  u  luvu^jc  inurl ; 
mill  then*  wa.s  n  sound  of  n'tidiiii;  nud 
rruni-hin^; :  nt  this  moment,  n  hound 
uttiTid  II  hny  M)nenrunil  loud  it  runjj 
tlm>u;,'h  the  house  ;  luiil  the  thn«e  tit 
the  window  >hniiik  tomther.  Tlien 
the  leopard  feared  for  her  supjuT.  and 
^'lidiil  swiltly  and  stealthily  away 
with  it  towards  the  wimmIs,  and  the 
very  next  moment  horses  and  men 
and  ilot;s  eunie  helter-skelter  pa.st  the 
window,  and  followed  her  full  ery. 
Martin  and  his  eompanions  hn-athtil 
a;;ain  :  the  U-ojmrd  was  swift,  and 
would  not  tie  eaiii;ht  within  a  leajjiie 
of  their  house.  'Ihey  ;;ras]»iil  hands. 
Man^'aret  seized  this  oniiortunity,  and 
cried  a  little;  Gerard  kiH^ed  the  tears 
away. 

To  tahle  onee  more,  and  Gerard 
drank  to  woman's  wit :  "  "V  is  stron- 
jrer  than  man's  fone."  said  he. 

"  Ay,"  said  Margaret,  "  when  those 
she  loves  arc  in  danger ;  not  eNe." 

Ttvni;:ht  (ierard  stayiil  with  her 
loiiL'er  than  usual,  and  went  home 
prouder  than  ever  of  her,  and  happy 
as  a  prince.  Some  little  distance  from 
home,  under  the  shadow  of  some  trees, 


he  eneountercd  two  fipiiva  :  ihry  ■! 
iiioit  Imrri-d  his  way. 

It  was  hio  father  and  niotlH-r. 

Out  DO  lute:  what  could  U'  ih« 
cause  ' 

A  cliill  fell  on  him. 

He  stop|H>d  and  hMjked  a(  them  : 
they  stiHMi  prim  and  nilcnt.  He  main- 
mered  out  some  words  of  in(|uirv. 

"  Why  n.sk  '  "  naiil  hi*  father  ;  "yon 
know  why  we  ore  here." 

"  <)  <icrnrd  !  "  said  hi*  mother,  with 
a  voice  full  of  reproach  and  yd  ai 
iiffivtion. 

(ierarU's  hrnrt  quakixl ;  ho  waa  li- 
lent. 

Then  his  father  pitied  hi»  confu«ion, 
and  said  to  him  :  — 

"  Nay,  you  need  not  to  han^;  tout 
head.  You  ore  not  the  fir»t  younf; 
fiN>l  that  hA.4  Urn  caught  bv  a  rvd 
rheek  and  a  |Miir  of  blue  eyevt.'' 

"  Nay,  nay!"  nut  in  Catherine; 
"  it  wo.".  witihiToM,  IVrer  the  Ma^p- 
cinn  is  well  known  for  that." 

"  Come,  Sir  I'ncsi,"  n-numed  hb 
father,  "  you  know  vnu  mu«t  not 
meddle  with  wiimen  (ttlk.  Hut  girc 
un  your  pn>mis4<  to  po  no  more  to 
Seven U-rijen,  and  here  oil  end*  :  wc 
won't  Ik-  ImnI  on  vou  for  one  fault." 

•■  I  cannot  promise  that,  father." 

"  Not  promise  it,  you  younp  hy[io> 
crite  •  " 

"  Nay,  father,  niiM-all  mc  not :  I 
locknl  conrapv  to  tell  yon  what  I 
knew  would  vex  vou  ;  and  rijfht 
prutefiil  am  I  to  tliat  i;imj«|  friend, 
whoi'vcr  he  1m',  that  has  let  yr)u  wot 
"r  is  a  load  off  niy  mind.  Yi-s,  fa- 
ther, I  love  Marpiin-t ;  mul  call  me  not 
a  priest,  for  o  priest  I  will  never  be. 
I  will  die  Mioner." 

"  That  we  shall  sec,  younp  man. 
(^ome,  painsay  me  no  more  ;  you  will 
leani  what  't  is  to  di^rcs|Hrt  a  father." 

(ierard  held  his  jH-ace ;  and  the 
three  walked  home  in  ;:l<K)mv  silence, 
broken  oidy  by  a  deep  siyfi  or  two 
from  Catherine. 

From  that  hour  the  little  house  at 
Ter;rou  was  no  lon;.'er  the  alxxle  of 
pciu-e.  Gerard  was  taken  to  ta«k 
next  day  before  the  whole  familv  ;  and 


THE  CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


39 


every  voice  was  loud  against  him,  ex- 
ceptlittlc  Kate's,  and  the  dwarfs,  who 
was  apt  to  take  his  cue  from  her  with- ' 
out  knowing  why.  As  for  Cornells 
and  Sybrandt,  they  were  bitterer  than 
their  father.  Gerard  was  dismayed 
at  finding  so  many  enemies,  and 
looked  wistfully  into  his  little  sister's 
face ;  her  eyes  were  bri  naming  at  the 
harsh  words  showered  on  one  who 
but  yesterday  was  the  universal  pet. 
But  she  gave  him  no  encouragement ; 
she  turned  her  head  away  from  him, 
and  said :  — 

"  Dear,  dear  Gerard,  pray  to  Heav- 
en to  cure  you  of  this  folly  !  " 

"  What,  you  are  against  me,  too  ?  " 
said  Gerard,  sadly  ;  and  he  rose  with 
a  deep  sigh,  and  left  the  house,  and 
went  to  Sevenbergen. 

The  beginning  of  a  quarrel,  where 
the  parties  are  bound  by  affection 
though  opposed  in  interest  and  senti- 
ment, is  comparatively  innocent ;  both 
are  perhaps  in  the  right  at  first  start- 
ing, and  then  it  is  that  a  calm,  judi- 
cious friend,  capable  of  seeing  both 
sides,  is  a  gift  from  heaven.  For, 
the  longer  the  dissension  endures, 
the  wider  and  deeper  it  grows  by  the 
fallibility  and  irascibility  of  human 
nature ;  these  are  not  confined  to 
cither  side,  and  finally  the  invariable 
end  is  reached,  —  both  in  the  wrong. 

The  combatants  were  unequally 
matched ;  Elias  was  angry,  Comelis 
and  Sybrandt  spiteful :  but  Gerard, 
having  a  larger  and  more  cultivated 
mind,  saw  both  sides  where  they  saw 
but  one,  and  had  fits  of  irresolution, 
and  was  not  wroth,  but  unhappy.  He 
was  lonely  too  in  this  struggle.  He 
could  open  liis  heart  to  no  one.  Mar- 
garet was  a  high-spirited  girl  ;  he 
dared  not  tell  her  what  he  had  to  en- 
dure at  home  ;  she  was  capable  of  sid- 
ing with  his  relations  by  resigning 
him,  though  at  the  cost  of  her  own 
happiness.  Margaret  Van  Eyck  had 
been  a  great  comfort  to  him  on  anoth- 
er occasion ;  btit  now  he  dared  not 
make  her  his  confidante.  Her  outi 
history  was  well  known.  In  early 
life  she  had  many  offers  of  marriage ; 


but  refused  them  all  for  the  sake  of 
that  art,  to  which  a  wife's  and  moth- 
er's duties  are  so  fatal  ;  thus  she  re- 
mained single  and  painted  with  her 
brothers.  How  could  he  tell  her  that 
he  declined  the  benefice  she  had 
got  him,  and  declined  it  for  the  sake 
of  that  which  at  his  age  she  had  de- 
spised and  sacrificed  so  lightly  ? 

Gerard  at  this  period  bade  fiiir  to 
succumb.  But  the  other  side  had  a 
horrible  ally  in  Catherine  Senior. 
This  good-hearted  but  uneducated 
woman  could  not,  like  her  daughter, 
act  quietly  and  firmly  ;  still  less  could 
she  act  upon  a  plan.  She  irritated 
Gerard  at  times,  and  so  helped  him ; 
for  anger  is  a  great  sustaincr  of  the 
courage  ;  at  others,  she  turned  round 
in  a  moment  and  made  onslaughts  on 
her  own  forces.  To  take  a  single  in- 
stance out  of  many :  one  day  that 
they  were  all  at  home,  Catherine  and 
all,  Comelis  said  :  "  Our  Gerard  wed 
Margaret  Brandt  1  Why,  it  is  hunger 
marrying  thirst." 

"  And  what  will  it  be  when  you 
marry  ?  "  cried  Catherine.  "  Gerard 
can  paint,  Gerard  can  write,  but  what 
can  you  do  to  keep  a  woman,  ye 
lazy  loon  ?  Naught  but  wait  for  your 
father's  shoon.  O,  we  can  see  why 
you  and  Sybrandt  would  not  have 
the  poor  boy  to  marry.  You  are 
afraid  he  will  come  to  us  for  a  share 
of  our  substance.  And  say  that  he 
does,  and  say  that  we  give  it  him,  it 
is  n't  yourn  we  part  from,  and  may- 
hap never  will  be." 

On  these  occasions  Gerard  smiled 
slyly,  and  picked  up  heart ;  and  tem- 
porary confusion  fell  on  Catherine's 
unfortunate  allies.  But  at  last,  after 
more  than  six  months  of  irritation, 
came  the  climax.  The  father  told  the 
son  before  the  whole  family  he  had 
ordered  the  burgomaster  to  imprison 
him  in  the  Stadthouse  rather  than  let 
him  marry  Margaret,  (ierard  turned 
pale  with  ang^'r  at  this,  but  by  a  great 
effort  held  his  peace.  His  father  went 
on  to  say,  "  And  a  priest  you  shall  be 
before  the  year  is  out,  nilly-willy." 

"  Is  it  so  1 "  cried  Grerard.    "  Then 


40 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


hear  me,  all.  By  God  and  St.  Bavon 
I  swear  I  will  never  be  a  priest  while 
Margaret  lives.  Since  force  is  to  de- 
cide it,  and  not  love  and  duty,  try 
force,  father;  but  force  shall  not  serve 
you,  for  the  day  I  see  the  burgo- 
master come  for  me,  I  leave  Tergou 
forever,  and  Holland  too,  and  my  fa- 
ther's house, where  it  seems  I  have  been 
valued  all  these  years  not  for  myself, 
but  for  what  is  to  be  got  out  of  me." 

And  he  flung  out  of  the  room  white 
with  anger  and  desperation. 

"  There,"  cried  Catherine,  "  that 
comes  of  driving  young  folk  too  hard. 
But  men  are  crueller  than  tigers,  even 
to  their  own  flesh  and  blood.  Now, 
Heaven  forbid  he  should  ever  leave 
us,  married  or  single." 

As  Gerard  came  out  of  the  house, 
his  cheeks  pale  and  his  heart  panting, 
he  met  Ilicht  Heynes :  she  had  a 
message  for  him :  Margaret  Van 
Eyck  desired  to  see  him.  He  found 
the  old  lady  seated  grim  as  a  judge. 
She  wasted  no  time  in  preliminaries, 
but  inquired  coolly  why  he  had  not 
visited  her  of  late :  before  he  could 
answer,  she  said  in  a  sarcastic  tone, 
"  I  thought  we  had  been  friends, 
young  sir." 

At  this  Gerard  looked  the  picture 
of  doubt  and  consternation. 

"It  is  because  you  never  told  her 
you  were  in  love,"  said  Richt  lleyncs, 
pitying  his  confusion. 

"  Silence,  wench  !  Why  should  he 
tell  us  his  afluirs  ?  We  are  not  his 
friends  :  we  have  not  deserved  his 
confidence." 

"  Alas  !  my  second  mother,"  said 
Gerard,  "I  did  not  dare  to  tell  you 
my  folly." 

"  What  folly  ?  Is  it  folly  to  love  1 " 

"  I  am  told  so  every  day  of  mv 
life." 

"  You  need  not  have  been  afraid  to 
tell  my  mistress  ;  she  is  always  kind 
to  true  lovers." 

"■  Madame,  —  Richt,  —  I  was  afraid 
because  I  was  told  —  " 

"  Well  ?   you  were  told  —  ?  " 

"  That  in  your  youth  you  scorned 
love,  preferring  art." 


"  I  did,  boy ;  and  what  is  the  end 
of  it  1  Behold  me  here  a  barren  stock, 
while  the  women  of  my  youth  have  a 
troop  of  children  at  their  side,  and 
grandchildren  at  their  knee.  I  gave 
up  the  sweet  joys  of  wifehood  and 
motherhood  for  what  ?  For  my  dear 
brothers.  They  have  gone  and  left 
me  long  ago.  For  my  art.  It  has  all 
but  left  me  too.  I  have  the  knowl- 
edge still,  but  what  avails  that  when 
the  hand  trembles  ?  No,  Gerard  :  I 
look  on  you  as  my  son.  You  are 
good,  you  are  handsome,  you  are  a 
})ainter,  though  not  like  some  I  have 
known.  I  will  not  let  you  throw 
3'our  youth  away  ns  I  did  mine  :  you 
shall  marry  this  Margaret.  I  have 
inquired,  and  she  is  a  good  daughter. 
Richt  here  is  a  gossip.  She  has  told 
me  all  about  it.  But  that  need  not 
hinder  ^o!<  to  tell  me." 

Poor  Gerard  was  overjoyed  to  be 
permitted  to  praise  Margaret  aloud, 
and  to  one  who  could  understand 
what  he  loved  in  her. 

Soon  there  were  two  pair  of  wet 
eyes  over  his  story ;  and,  when  the 
poor  boy  saw  that,  there  were  three. 

Women  are  creatures  brimful  of 
courage.  Theirs  is  not  exactly  the 
same  quality  as  manly  courage  ;  that 
would  never  do,  hang  it  all ;  we 
should  have  to  give  up  trampling  on 
them.  No ;  it  is  a  vicarious  cour- 
age. They  never  take  jjart  in  a  bull- 
fight by  any  chance ;  but  it  is  re- 
marked that  they  sit  at  one,  unshaken 
by  those  tremors  and  apprehensions 
for  the  combatants  to  which  the  male 
spectator  —  feeble-minded  wretch  !  — 
is  subject.  Nothing  can  exceed  the 
resolution  with  which  they  have  been 
known  to  send  forth  men  to  battle : 
as  some  witty  dog  says,  "  Les  femmes 
sont  tres  braves  avec  le  peau  d'autrui." 

By  tills  trait  Gerard  now  ])rofited. 
Margaret  and  Richt  were  agreed  that 
a  man  should  always  take  the  bull  by 
the  horns.  Gerard's  only  course  was 
to  marry  Margaret  Brandt  off-hand  ; 
the  old  people  would  come  to  after  a 
while,  the  deed  once  done.  Whereas, 
the  longer  this  misunderstanding  con- 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


41 


tinued  on  its  present  footing,  the  worse 
for  all  parties,  especially  for  Gerard. 

"  See  how  pale  and  thin  they  have 
made  him  amongst  them." 

"  Indeed  you  arc.  Master  Gerard," 
said  Rieht.  "  It  makes  a  body  sad  to 
see  a  young  man  so  wasted  and  worn. 
Mistress,  when  I  met  him  in  the 
street  to-day,  I  had  like  to  have  burst 
out  crying :  he  was  so  changed." 

"  And  I  '11  be  bound  the  others 
keep  their  color,  eh,  Richt"?  such  as 
it  is." 

"  O,  I  see  no  odds  in  them." 

"  Of  course  not.  We  painters  are 
no  match  for  boors.  We  are  glass, 
they  arc  stone.  Wc  can't  stand  the 
worry,  woriy,  worry  of  little  minds  ; 
and  it  is  not  for  the  good  of  mankind 
we  should  be  exposed  to  it.  It  is  hard 
enough.  Heaven  knows,  to  design  and 
paint  a  masterpiece,  without  having 
gnats  and  flies  stinging  us  to  death 
into  the  bargain." 

Exasperated  as  Gerard  was  by  his 
father's  threat  of  violence,  he  listened 
to  these  friendly  voices  telling  him  the 
prudent  course  was  rebellion.  But, 
though  he  listened,  he  was  not  con- 
vinced. 

"  I  do  not  fear  my  father's  violence," 
he  said,  "  but  I  do  fear  his  anger. 
When  it  came  to  the  point,  he  would 
not  imprison  me.  I  would  marry 
Margaret  to-morrow  if  that  was  my 
only  fear.  No  ;  he  would  disown  mc. 
I  should  take  Margaret  from  her 
father,  and  give  her  a  poor  husband, 
who  could  never  thrive  weighed  down 
by  his  parent's  curse.  Madam  !  I 
sometimes  think  if  I  could  but  marry 
her  secretly,  and  then  take  her  away  to 
some  country  where  my  craft  is  better 
paid  than  in  this ;  and  after  a  year  or 
two,  when  the  storm  had  blown  over, 
you  know,  coidd  come  back  with 
money  in  my  purse,  and  say  :  '  My 
dear  parents,  we  do  not  seek  your  sub- 
stance, we  but  ask  j'ou  to  love  us  once 
more  as  you  used,  and  as  we  have 
never  ceased  to  love  you' —  But, 
alas  !  I  shall  be  told  that  these  are 
the  dreams  of  an  inexperienced  young 
man." 


The  old  lady's  eyes  sparkled. 

"  It  is  no  dream,  but  a  piece  of 
wonderful  common-sense  in  a  boy ;  it 
remains  to  be  seen  whether  you  have 
S])irit  to  carry  out  your  own  thought. 
There  is  a  country,  Gerard,  where 
certain  fortune  awaits  you  at  this  mo- 
ment. Here  the  arts  freeze,  but  there 
they  flourish  as  they  never  yet  flour- 
ished in  any  age  or  land." 

"  It  is  Italy  ! "  cried  Gerard,  —  "  it 
is  Italy ! " 

"  Ay,  Italy  !  where  painters  are 
honored  like  princes,  and  scribes  are 
paid  three  hundred  crowns  for  copying 
a  single  manuscript.  Know  you  not 
that  his  Holiness  the  Pope  has  written 
to  every  land  for  skilful  scribes  to 
copy  the  hundreds  of  precious  maiiu- 
sci'ipts  that  arc  pouring  into  that 
favored  land  from  Constantinople, 
Avhence  learning  and  learned  men  ai-e 
driven  by  the  barbarian  Turks  ■?  " 

"  Nay,  I  know  not  that ;  but  it  has 
been  the  dream  and  hojic  of  my  life 
to  visit  Italy,  the  queen  of  all  the  arts ; 
0  madam  ;  but  the  journey,  and  we 
are  all  so  poor." 

"  Find  you  the  heart  to  go,  I  '11 
find  the  means.  I  know  where  to  lay 
my  hand  on  ten  golden  angels  :  they 
Avill  take  you  to  Rome ;  and  tlie  girl 
with  you,  if  she  loves  you  as  she 
ought." 

They  sat  till  midnight  over  this 
theme.  And,  after  that  day,  Gerard 
recovered  his  sj)irits,  and  seemed  to 
carry  a  secret  talisman  against  all  the 
gibes  and  the  harsh  words  that  flew 
about  liis  ears  at  home. 

Besides  the  money  she  procured  him 
for  the  journey,  Margaret  Van  Eyck 
gave  him  money's  worth.  Said  she ; 
"  I  will  tell  you  secrets  that  I  learned 
from  masters  that  arc  gone  from  me, 
and  have  left  no  fellow  beJiind.  Even 
the  Italians  know  them  not ;  and 
what  I  tell  you  now  in  Tergou  you 
shall  sell  dear  in  Florence.  Note  my 
brother  Jan's  pictures :  time,  which 
fades  all  other  paintings,  leaves  his 
colors  bright  as  the  day  they  left  the 
easel.  The  reason  is,  he  did  nothing 
blindly,   nothing    in   a  hurry.      He 


42 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


tnistetl  to  no  hireling  to  grind  his 
colors;  he  did  it  himself,  or  saw  it 
done.  His  panel  was  prepared  and 
prepared  again  —  I  will  show  you 
l^ow  —  a  year  before  he  laid  his  color 
on.  Most  of  them  are  quite  content 
to  have  their  work  sucked  up  and  lost, 
sooner  than  not  be  in  a  hurry.  Bad 
painters  are  always  in  a  hurry.  Above 
all,  Gerard,  I  warn  you,  use  little  oil, 
and  never  boil  it ;  boiling  it  melts  that 
vegetable  dross  into  its  very  heart 
which  it  is  our  business  to  clear  away ; 
for  impure  oil  is  death  to  color.  No  ; 
take  your  oil  and  pour  it  into  a  bottle 
with  water.  In  a  day  or  two,  the 
water  will  turn  muddy  :  that  is  muck 
from  the  oil.  Four  the  dirty  water 
carefully  away,  and  add  fresh.  When 
that  is  poured  away,  you  will  foncy 
the  oil  is  clear.  You  are  mistaken. 
Richt,  fetch  me  that!"  Richt  brouglit 
a  glass  trough  with  a  glass  lid  fitting 
tight.  When  your  oil  has  been  washed 
in  bottle,  put  it  into  this  trough  with 
water,  and  put  the  trough  in  the  sun 
all  day.  You  will  soon  sec  the  water 
turbid  again.  But,  mark,  you  must 
not  carry  this  game  too  far,  or  tlie 
Run  will  turn  your  oil  to  varnish. 
When  it  is  as  clear  as  crystal,  and  not 
too  luscious,  drain  carefully,  and  cork 
it  up  tight.  Grind  your  own  prime 
colors,  and  lay  them  on  with  this  oil, 
and  they  shall  live.  Hubert  would 
put  sand  or  salt  in  the  water  to  clear 
the  oil  quicker.  But  Jan  used  to  say, 
"  Water  will  do  it  best,  give  water 
time."  Jan  Van  Eyck  was  never  in 
a  hurry,  and  that  is  why  the  world 
did  not  forget  him  in  a  hurry." 

This  and  several  other  receipts,  quaj 
nunc  perscribere  longum  est,  Margaret 
gave  him  with  sparkling  eyes,  and  Ge- 
rard received  them  like  a  legacy  from 
heaven,  so  interesting  are  some  things 
that  read  uninteresting.  Thus  pro- 
vided with  money  and  knowledge, 
Gerard  decided  to  marry,  and  fly  with 
his  wife  to  Italy.  Nothing  remained 
now  bvit  to  inform  Margaret  Brandt 
of  his  resolution,  and  to  publish  the 
banns  as  quietly  as  possible.  He  went 
to  Sevenbergen  earlier  than  usual  on 


both  these  errands.  He  began  with 
Margaret ;  told  her  of  the  Dame  Van 
Evck's  goodness,  and  the  resolution 
he  had  come  to  at  last,  and  invited 
her  co-operation. 

She  refused  it  plump. 

"  No,  Gerard ;  you  and  I  have  never 
spoken  of  your  family,  but  when  you 
come  to  marriage  —  "  She  stopped, 
then  began  again.  "  I  do  think  your 
father  has  no  ill  will  to  me  more  than 
to  another.  He  told  Peter  Buyskens 
as  much,  and  Peter  told  me.  But  so 
long  as  he  is  bent  on  your  being  a 
priest  (you  ought  to  have  told  me  this 
instead  of  I  you),  I  could  not  marry 
you,  Gerard,  dearly  as  I  love  you." 

Gerard  strove  in  vain  to  shake  this 
resolution.  He  found  it  very  easy  to 
make  her  cry,  but  impossible  to  make 
her  yield.  Then  Gerard  was  impa- 
tient and  unjust. 

"  Very  well ! "  he  cried ;  "  then  you 
are  on  their  side,  and  you  will  drive 
me  to  be  a  priest,  for  this  must  end 
one  way  or  another.  My  parents 
hate  me  in  earnest,  but  my  lover  on- 
ly loves  me  in  jest." 

And  with  this  wild,  bitter  speech, 
he  flung  away  home  again,  and  left 
Margaret  weeping. 

When  a  man  misbehaves,  the  eflfect 
is  curious  on  a  girl  who  loves  liim 
sincerely.  It  makes  her  pity  him. 
This,  to  some  of  us  males,  seems  any- 
thing but  logical.  The  fault  is  in  our 
own  eye  ;  the  logic  is  too  swift  for  us. 
The  girl  argues  thus  :  "  How  unhap- 
py, how  vexed,  poor  *  *  *  must  be ; 
him  to  misbehave  !     Poor  thing  !  " 

Margaret  was  full  of  this  sweet, 
womanly  pity,  when,  to  her  great 
surprise,  scarce  an  hour  and  a  half 
after  he  left  her,  Gerard  came 
running  back  to  her  with  the  frag- 
ments of  a  picture  in  his  hand,  and 
panting  with  anger  and  grief. 

"  There,  Margaret !  see  !  see  !  the 
wretches !  Look  at  their  spite ! 
They  have  cut  your  portrait  to  pieces." 

Margaret  looked.  And,  sure 
enough,  some  malicious  hand  had 
cut  her  portrait  into  Ave  pieces.     She 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


43 


was  a  good  girl,  but  she  was  not  iee  ; 
she  turned  red  to  her  very  fore- 
head. 

"  Who  did  it  ?  " 

"  Nay,  I  know  not.  I  dared  not 
ask ;  for  I  should  hate  the  hand  that 
did  it,  ay,  till  my  dying  day.  My 
poor  Margaret !  Tlic  butchers,  the 
ruffians.  Six  months'  work  cut  out 
of  my  life,  and  nothing  to  show  for  it 
now.  See,  they  have  hacked  through 
your  very  face ;  the  sweet  face  that 
every  one  loves  who  knows  it.  O 
heartless,  merciless  vipers  !  " 

"  Xever  mind,  Gerard,"  said  Mar- 
garet, panting.  "  Since  this  is  how 
they  treat  you  for  my  sake —  Ye 
rob  him  of  my  portrait,  do  ye  ?  well, 
then  he  shall  have  the  face  itself,  such 
as  it  is." 

"  0  Margaret !  " 

"  Yes,  Gerard,  since  they  are  so 
cruel,  I  win  he  the  kinder ;  forgive 
me  for  refusing  you.  I  will  be  your 
wife :  to-morrow,  if  it  is  your 
pleasure." 

Gerard  kissed  her  hands  with  rap- 
ture and  then  her  lips,  and  in  a  tu- 
mult of  joy  ran  for  Peter  and  Martin. 
They  came  and  witnessed  the  be- 
trothal, — a  solemn  ceremony  in  those 
days,  and  indeed  for  more  than  a 
century  later,  though  now  abolished. 


CHAPTER  X. 

The  banns  of  marriage  had  to  be 
read  three  times,  as  in  our  days ;  Avith 
this  difference,  that  they  were  com- 
monly read  on  week-days,  and  the 
young  couple  easily  persuaded  the 
cure  to  do  the  three  readings  in  twen- 
ty-four hours :  he  was  new  to  the 
place,  and  their  looks  spoke  volumes 
in  their  favor.  They  were  cried  on 
Monday  at  matins  and  at  vespers ; 
and,  to  their  great  delight,  nobody 
from  Tergou  was  in  the  church.  The 
next  morning  they  were  botli  there 
palpitating  with  anxiety,  when,  to 
their  horror,  a  stranger  stood  up  and 
forbade  the  banns,  on  the  score  that 


the  parties  were  not  of  age,  and  their 
parents  not  consenting. 

Outside  the  church  door,  Margaret 
and  Gerard  held  a  trembling  and  al- 
most despairing  consultation ;  but, 
before  they  could  settle  anything,  the 
man  who  had  done  them  so  ill  a  turn 
approached,  and  gave  them  to  under- 
stand that  he  was  very  sorry  to  inter- 
fere; that  his  inclination  was  to 
further  the  happiness  of  the  young ; 
but  that  in  point  of  fact  his  only 
means  of  getting  a  living  was  by  for- 
bidding banns  :  what  then  ?  "  The 
young  people  give  me  a  croA\'n,  and  I 
undo  my  work  handsomely,  tell  the 
cure  1  was  misinformed,  and  all  goes 
smoothly." 

"  A  crown  ?  I  -will  give  you  a 
golden  angel  to  do  this,"  said  Gerard, 
eagerly.  The  man  consented  as 
eagerly,  and  went  with  Gerard  to  the 
cure'  and  told  him  he  had  made  a  ri- 
diculous mistake,  which  a  sight  of  the 
parties  had  rectified.  On  tliis  the 
cure'  agreed  to  marry  the  young 
couple  next  day  at  ten  ;  and  the  pro- 
fessional obstructor  of  bliss  went 
home  with  Gerard's  angel.  Like  most 
of  these  very  clever  knaves,  he  was  a 
fool,  and  proceeded  to  drink  his  angel 
at  a  certain  hostelry  in  Tergou,  where 
was  a  green  devoted  to  archery  and 
the  common  sports  of  the  day.  There, 
being  drunk,  he  bragged  of  his  day's 
exploit ;  and  who  should  be  there, 
imbibing  every  word,  but  a  great  fre- 
quenter of  the  spot,  the  ne'er-do-weel 
Sybrandt.  Sybrandt  ran  home  to 
tell  his  father ;  his  father  was  not  at 
home ;  he  was  gone  to  Rotterdam  to 
buy  cloth  of  the  merchants.  Catching 
his  elder  brother's  eye,  he  made  him 
a  signal  to  come  out,  and  told  him 
what  he  had  heard. 

There  are  black  sheep  in  nearly 
every  large  family ;  and  these  two 
were  Gerard's  black  brothers.  Idle- 
ness is  vitiating;  waiting  for  the 
death  of  those  we  ought  to  love  is 
vitiating :  and  these  two  one-idead 
curs  were  ready  to  tear  any  one  to 
death  that  should  interfere  with  that 
miserable  inheritance  which  was  their 


44 


THE  CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


thoujjht  by  day  and  their  dream  by 
night.  Iht'ir  j);irents'  parsimony 
was  a  virtue  ;  it  was  accompanied  by 
industry,  and  its  motive  was  love  of 
their  otispring  :  but  in  these  j)erverse 
and  seltibh  hearts  that  homely  virtue 
was  pencrted  into  avarice,  than 
wliich  no  more  fruitful  source  of 
crimes   is   to   be  found  in   nature. 

They  put  their  heads  toj,^tlier,  and 
agreed  not  to  tell  their  mother,  wiiose 
sentiments  were  so  uncertain,  but  to 
go  tirst  to  the  burgomaster.  They 
were  cunning  enough  to  see  that  he 
was  averse  to  the  match,  though  they 
could  not  divine  why. 

Gliysbrecht  Van  Swietcn  saw 
through  them  at  once  ;  but  he  took 
care  not  to  let  them  see  through  him. 
He  heard  their  story ;  and,  putting 
on  nuigisterial  dignity  and  coldness, 
he  said :  — 

"  Since  the  father  of  the  family  is 
not  here,  his  duty  fallcth  on  me,  who 
am  tiie  father  of  the  town.  I  know 
your  father's  mind  ;  leave  all  to  me  : 
and,  above  all,  tell  not  a  woman  of 
this,  least  of  all  the  women  that  are 
in  your  own  house ;  for  chattering 
tongues  mar  wisest  counsels." 

So  he  dismissed  them  a  little  super- 
ciliously :  he  was  ashamed  of  his 
confederates. 

On  their  return  home  they  found 
their  brother  Gerard  seated  on  a  low 
stool  at  their  mother's  knee :  she  was 
caressing  his  hair  with  her  hand, 
speaking  very  kindly  to  him,  and 
promising  to  take  his  part  with  his 
father,  and  thwart  his  love  no  more. 
The  main  cause  of  this  change  of 
mind  was  characteristic  of  the  woman. 
She  it  was  Avho,  in  a  moment  of  female 
irritation,  had  cut  M;u-garet's  picture 
to  pieces.  She  had  watched  the  ef- 
fect with  some  misgivings,  and  had 
seen  Gerard  turn  pale  as  death,  and 
sit  motionless  like  a  bereaved  crea- 
ture, with  the  pieces  in  his  hands, 
and  his  eyes  fixed  on  them  till  tears 
came  and  blinded  them.  Then  she 
was  terrified  at  what  she  had  done  : 
and  next  her  heart  smote  her  bitter- 
ly :    and  she  wept   sore  apart :    but, 


being  what  she  was,  dared  not  own 
it,  i)ut  said  to  herself,  "  1  '11  not  say  a 
word,  hut  I  'II  make  it  up  lo  him." 
And  her  bowels  yearned  over  licr 
son,  and  her  feeble  violence  dieil  a 
natural  death,  and  she  was  transfer- 
ring her  fatal  alliance  to  {ieriird 
when  the  two  black  shee])  came  in. 
Gerard  knew  nothing  of  the  immedi- 
ate cause  ;  on  the  contrary,  inexperi- 
enced as  he  was  in  the  ins  and  outs 
of  females,  her  kindness  made  him 
ashamed  of  a  susi)icion  he  had  enter- 
tained that  she  was  the  dej)redator ; 
and  he  kissed  her  again  and  sigain, 
anil  went  to  bed  liaj)j)y  as  a  j)rince, 
to  think  his  mother  was  his  mother 
once  more  at  the  very  crisis  of  liis 
fate. 

The  lU'Xt  moniing,  at  ten  o'clock, 
Gerard  and  Margaret  were  in  the 
church  at  Sevenbergcn,  he  radiant 
with  joy,  she  with  blushes.  Peter 
was  also  there,  and  Martin  Wittcn- 
haagen,  but  no  other  friend.  Secrecy 
wixs  everything.  Margaret  liad  de- 
clined Italy.  She  could  not  leave  her 
father  ;  he  was  too  leanie<l  and  too 
helpless.  But  it  was  settled  they 
should  retire  into  Flanders  for  a  few 
weeks  until  the  storm  should  be  blown 
over  at  Tergou.  The  cure  did  not 
keep  them  waiting  long,  though  it 
seemed  an  age.  I'resently  he  stood 
at  the  altar,  and  called  them  to  him. 
Tliry  went  liand  in  hand,  the  ha;)i)iest 
in  Holland.  The  cure  opened  his 
book. 

But,  ere  he  uttered  a  single  word  of 
the  sacred  rite,  a  harsh  voice  cried, 
"  Forbear  !  "  And  the  constables  of 
Tergou  came  up  the  aisle,  and  seized 
Gerard  in  the  name  of  the  law.  Mar- 
tin's long  knife  flashed  out  directly. 

"  Forbear,  man  !  "  cried  the  priest. 
"  What !  draw  your  weapon  in  a 
church  ?  and  ye  who  interrupt  this 
holy  sacrament,  what  means  this  im- 
piety ?  " 

"  There  is  no  impiety,  father,"  said 
the  burgomaster's  sen^ant,  respect- 
fully. "  This  young  man  woidd  mar- 
ry against  his  father's  ^rill,  and  his 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


45 


father  has  prayed  our  burgomaster  to 
deal  with  him  according  to  the  hiw. 
Let  him  deny  it  if  he  can." 

"  Is  this  so,  young  man  ?  " 

Gerard  hung  his  head. 

"  Wc  take  him  to  Rotterdam  to 
abide  the  sentence  of  the  duke." 

At  this  Margaret  uttered  a  cry  of 
despair,  and  the  young  creatures,  who 
were  so  happy  a  moment  ago,  fell  to 
sobbing  in  one  another's  arms  so  pite- 
onsly,  that  the  instruments  of  op- 
pression drew  back  a  step,  and  were 
ashamed ;  but  one  of  them  that  was 
good-natured  stepped  up  under  pre- 
tence of  separating  them,  and  wliis- 
pered  to  Margaret :  — 

"  Rotterdam  ?  it  is  a  lie.  We  but 
take  him  to  our  Stadthouse." 

They  took  him  away  on  horseback, 
on  the  road  to  Rotterdam  ;  and,  after 
a  dozen  halts,  and  by  sly  detours,  to 
Tei'gou.  Just  outside  the  town  they 
were  met  by  a  rude  vehicle  covered 
with  canvas.  Gerard  was  put  into 
this,  and  about  five  in  the  evening 
was  secretly  conveyed  into  the  prison 
of  the  Stadthouse.  He  was  taken  up 
several  flights  of  stairs  and  thrust  in- 
to a  small  room  lighted  only  by  a 
narrow  window  with  a  vertical  iron 
bar.  The  whole  furniture  was  a  huge 
oak  chest. 

Imprisonment  in  that  age  was  one 
of  the  high-roads  to  death.  It  is 
horrible  in  its  mildest  form  ;  but  in 
those  days  it  implied  cold,  unbroken 
solitude,  torture,  starvation,  and  often 
poison.  Gerard  felt  he  was  in  the 
hands  of  an  enemy. 

"  O,  the  look  that  man  gave  me  on 
the  road  to  Rotterdam.  There  is 
more  here  than  my  father's  wrath. 
I  doubt  I  shall  see  no  more  the  light 
of  day."  And  he  kneeled  down  and 
commended  his  soul  to  God. 

Presently  he  rose  and  sprang  at  the 
iron  bar  of  the  ^^indow,  and  clutched 
it.  This  enabled  him  to  look  out  by 
pressing  his  knees  against  the  wall. 
It  was  but  for  a  mmute  ;  but  in  that 
minute  he  saw  a  sight  such  as  none 
but  a  captive  can  appreciate. 

Mai-tiu  Wittenhaageu's  back. 


Martin  was  sitting  quietly  fishing 
in  the  brook  near  the  Stadthouse. 

Gerard  sprang  again  at  the  win- 
dow, and  whistled.  Martin  instantly 
showed  that  he  was  watching  much 
harder  than  fishing.  He  turned  has- 
tily round  and  saw  Gerard ;  made 
him  a  signal,  and,  taking  up  his  line 
and  bow,  went  quickly  off. 

Gerard  saw  by  this  that  his  friends 
were  not  idle  ;  yet  he  had  rather  INIar- 
tin  had  stayed.  The  verv'  sight  of 
him  was  a  comfort.  He  held  on,  look- 
ing at  the  soldier's  retiring  form  as 
long  as  he  could,  then,  falling  back 
somewhat  heavily,  wrenched  the  rus- 
ty iron  bar,  held  only  by  rusty  nails, 
away  from  the  stonework  just  as 
Ghysbrecht  Van  Swieten  opened  the 
door  stealthily  behind  him.  The 
burgomaster's  eye  fell  instantly  on 
the  iron,  and  then  glanced  at  the  win- 
dow ;  but  he  said  nothing.  The  win- 
dow was  a  hundi'ed  feet  from  the 
ground;  and,  if  Gerard  had  a  fancy 
for  jumping  out,  why  should  he  balk 
it  ?  He  brought  a  brown  loaf  and  a 
pitcher  of  water,  and  set  them  on  the 
chest  in  solemn  silence.  Gerard's 
first  impulse  was  to  brain  him  with 
the  iron  bar,  and  fly  dowai  the  stairs  ; 
but  the  burgomaster,  seeing  something 
wicked  in  his  eye,  gave  a  little  cough, 
and  tliree  stout  fellows,  armed,  showed 
themselves  directly  at  the  door. 

"  My  orders  are  to  keep  you  thus 
until  you  shall  bind  yourself  by  an 
oath  to  leave  Margaret  Brandt,  and 
return  to  the  church  to  which  you 
have  belonged  from  your  cradle." 

"  Death  sooner." 

"  With  all  my  heart."  And  the 
burgomaster  retired. 

Mai-tin  went  witli  all  speed  to  Sev- 
enbergen  ;  there  he  found  Margaret 
pale  and  agitated,  but  full  of  resolu- 
tion and  energy.  She  was  just  finish- 
ing a  letter  to  the  Countess  Charolois, 
api)ealing  to  her  against  the  ^^olence 
and  treachery  of  Ghysbrecht. 

"  Courage  !  "  cried  Martin,  on  en- 
tering. "  I  have  found  him.  He  is 
in  the  haunted  tower ;  right  at  the  top 


46 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


of  it.  Ay  !  I  know  the  place  :  many 
a  poor  fellow  has  f^one  up  there 
straifi^ht,  and  come  down  feet-fore- 
most." 

lie  the-n  told  her  how  he  had  looked 
up,  and  seen  (ierard's  face  at  a  win- 
dow that  was  like  a  .<lit  in  the  wall. 
"  O  Martin,  how  did  he  look  ?  " 
"  What    n*can    you  ^     He    looked 
like  Gerard  Eliassocn." 
"  But  was  he  pale  ?  " 
"A  little." 

"  Looked  he  anxious  ?  Looked  he 
like  one  doomed  !  " 

"  Nay,  nay  ;  as  bright  as  a  pewter 
pot." 

"  You  mock  me.  Stay  !  then  that 
must  have  been  at  si^^lit  of  you.  He 
counts  on  us.  O  what  shall  we  do  ? 
Martin,  good  friend,  take  this  at  once 
to  Rotterdam." 

Martin  held  out  his  hand  for  the 
letter. 

Peter  had  .sat  silent  all  this  time, 
but  pondering,  and  yet,  contrary  to 
custom,  keenly  attentive  to  what  was 
going  on  around  him. 

"  I'ut  not  your  trust  in  princes," 
said  he. 

"  Alas  !  what  else  have  we  to  trust 
in  ?  " 

"  Knowledge." 

"  Well-a-day,  father,  your  learning 
will  not  serve  us  here." 

"  How  know  you  that  ?  Wit  has 
been  too  strong  for  iron  bars  ere  to- 
day." 

"  Ay,  father  ;  but  Nature  is  strong- 
er than  wit,  and  she  is  against  us. 
Think  of  the  height !  No  ladder  in 
Holland  might  reach  him." 

"  I  need  no  ladder ;  what  I  need  is 
a  gold  crown." 

"  Nay,  I  have  money,  for  that  mat- 
ter. I  have  nine  angels.  Gerard 
gave  them  me  to  keep  ;  but  what  do 
they  avail  f  The  burgomaster  will 
not  be  bribed  to  let  Gerard  free." 

"  What  do  they  avail  1  Give  me 
but  one  crown,  and  the  young  man 
shall  sup  with  us  this  night." 

Peter  spoke  so  eagerly  and  confi- 
dently, that  for  a  momeiU  Margaret 
felt  hopeful;    but    she  caught  Mar- 


tin's eye  dwelling  upon  him  with  an 
expression  of  benevolent  contempt. 

"  It  passes  the  powers  of  man's  in- 
vention," said  she,  with  a  deep  sigh. 

"  Invention  ?  "  cried  the  old  man. 
"  A  fig  for  invention.  AVhat  need  we 
invention  at  this  time  of  day  1  Every- 
thing has  been  said  that  is  to  be  said, 
and  done  that  ever  will  be  done.  I 
shall  tell  you  how  a  Florentine  knight 
was  shut  up  in  a  tower  higher  than 
Gerard's  :  yet  did  his  faithful  scjuirc 
stand  at  the  tower  foot  and  get  him 
out,  with  no  other  engine  than  that 
in  your  hand,  Martin,  and  certain 
kickshaws  I  shall  buy  for  a  crown." 

Martin  looked  at  his  bow,  and 
turned  it  round  in  his  hand;  and 
seemed  to  interrogate  it.  But  t>he  ex- 
amination left  him  as  incredulous  as 
before. 

Then  Peter  told  them  his  story, 
how  the  faithful  scpiire  got  the  knight 
out  of  a  high  tower  at  Brescia.  The 
mana'uvre,  like  most  things  that  are 
really  scientific,  was  so  sini])le,  that 
now  their  wonder  was  they  had  taken 
for  impossible  what  was  not  even  dif- 
ficult. 

The  letter  never  went  to  Rotterdam. 
They  trusted  to  Peter's  learning  and 
their  own  dexterity. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  on  a  clear 
moonlight  night ;  Gerard,  .senior,  was 
still  awa}' ;  the  rest  of  his  little  family 
had  been  for  some  time  abed. 

A  figure  stood  by  the  dwarfs  bed. 
It  was  white,  and  the  moonlight 
shone  on  it. 

With  an  unearthly  noise,  between  a 
yell  and  a  snarl,  the  gymnast  rolled 
off  his  bed  and  under  it  by  a  single 
unbroken  movement.  A  soft  voice 
followed  him  in  his  retreat. 

"  Why,  Giles,  are  you  afeard  of 
me?  " 

At  this,  Giles's  head  peeped  cau- 
tiously up,  and  he  saw  it  was  only  his 
sister  Kate. 

She  put  her  finger  to  her  lips. 
"  Hush  !  lest  the  wicked  Cornells  or 
the  wicked  Syhrandt  hear  us."  Giles's 
claws  seized  the  side  of  the  bed,  and 


THE  CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


47 


he  rcturnc.  to  his  place  by  one  uudi- 
iidud  gymnastic. 

Kate  then  revealed  to  Giles,  that 
she  had  heard  Cornelis  and  Sybrandt 
mention  Gerard's  name,  and,  being 
herself  in  great  anxiety  at  his  not 
coming  home  all  day,  had  listened  at 
tlieir  door,  and  made  a  fearful  dis- 
covery. Gerard  was  in  prison,  in  the 
hiutntcd  tower  of  the  Stadthouse.  He 
was  there,  it  seemed,  by  their  father's 
authority.  But  here  must  be  some 
treachery  ;  for  how  could  their  father 
have  ordered  this  cruel  act  ?  he  was 
at  Rotterdam.  She  ended  by  entreat- 
ing Giles  to  bear  her  company  to  the 
foot  of  the  haunted  tower,  to  say  a 
word  of  comfort  to  poor  Gerard,  and 
let  him  know  their  ftither  was  absent, 
and  would  be  sure  to  release  him  on 
his  return. 

"  Dear  Giles,  I  would  go  alone,  but 
I  am  afeard  of  the  spirits  that  men 
say  do  haunt  the  tower :  l)ut  with  you 
I  shall  not  be  afeard." 

"  Nor  I  with  you,"  said  Giles.  "  I 
don't  believe  there  are  any  spirits  in 
Tergon.  I  never  saw  one.  This  last 
was  the  likest  one  ever  I  saw  ;  and  it 
was  but  you,  Kate,  after  all." 

In  less  than  half  aifc  hour  Giles  and 
Kate  ojjened  the  house  door  cautioiis- 
ly  and  issued  forth.  She  made  him 
carry  a  lantern,  though  the  night  was 
bright.  "  The  lantern  gives  me  more 
courage  against  the  evil  spirits,"  said 
she. 

The  first  day  of  imprisonment  is 
very  trying,  especially  if  to  the  horror 
of  captivity  is  added  the  horror  of  ut- 
ter solitude.  I  observe  that  in  our 
own  day  a  great  many  persons  com- 
mit suicide  during  the  first  twenty- 
four  hours  of  the  solitary  cell.  This 
is  doubtless  why  our  Jairi  abstain  so 
carefully  from  the  impertinence  of 
watching  their  little  experiment  upon 
the  human  soul  at  that  particular 
stage  of  it. 

As  the  sun  declined,  Gerard's  heart 
too  sank  and  sank  :  with  the  waning 
light  even  the  embers  of  liope  went 
out.     He  was  faint,  too,  with  hunger ; 


for  he  was  afraid  to  eat  the  fuod  Ghys- 
brecht  had  brought  him  ;  and  liunger 
alone  cows  men.  He  sat  upon  the 
chest,  his  arms  and  his  head  drooping 
before  him,  a  picture  of  despondency. 
Suddenly  something  struck  the  wall 
beyond  him  very  sharply,  and  then 
rattled  on  the  floor  at  his  "feet.  It  was 
an  arrow  ;  he  saw  the  white  feather. 
A  chill  ran  through  •  him,  —  they 
meant  then  to  assassinate  him  from 
the  outside.  He  crouched.  No  more 
missiles  came.  He  crawled  on  all 
fours,  and  took  np  the  arrow  :  there 
was  no  head  to  it.  He  uttered  a  cry 
of  hope  :  had  a  friendly  hand  shot  it  ? 
He  took  it  up,  and  felt  it  all  over  :  he 
felt  a  soft  substance  attached  to  it. 
Then  one  of  his  eccentricities  was  of 
grand  use  to  him.  His  tinder-box  en- 
abled him  to  strike  a  light :  it  showed 
him  two  things  that  made  his  heart 
bonnd  with  tlclight,  none  the  less 
thrillin;;-  for  being  somewhat  vague. 
Attacli  ^d  to  the  arrow  was  a  skein  of 
silk,  and  on  the  arrow  itself  were 
words  written. 

How  his  eyes  devoured  them,  liis 
heart  panting  the  while  ! 

Wcll-hdoccd,  make  fust  the  silk  to 
thji  knife  and  lower  to  us  :  but  hold  thine 
end  fast :  then  count  an  hundred  and 
draw  up. 

Gerard  seized  the  oak  chest,  and  with 
almost  superhuman  energy  dragged 
it  to  the  window  :  a  moment  ago  he 
could  not  have  moved  it.  Standing 
on  the  chest  and  looking  down,  he 
saw  figures  at  the  tower  foot.  They 
were  so  indistinct  they  looked  like 
one  huge  form.  He  waved  his  Ijon- 
net  to  them  with  trembling  hand  : 
then  he  undid  the  silk  rapidly  but 
carefully,  and  made  one  end  fast  to 
his  knife  and  lowered  it  till  it  ceased 
to  draw.  Then  he  counted  a  hun- 
dred. Then  pulled  the  silk  carefully 
up :  it  came  up  a  little  heavier.  At 
last  he  came  to  a  large  knot,  and  by 
that  knot  a  stout  whipcord  was  at- 
tached to  the  silk.  What  could  this 
mean  ?     While  he  was  puzzling  liiut- 


48 


THE  CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


self,  Margaret's  voice  came  up  to  him, 
low  but  clear.  "  Draw  up,  Gerard, 
till  you  see  liberty."  At  the  word 
Gerard  drew  the  whipcord  line  uj), 
and  drew  and  drew  till  lie  came  to 
another  knot,  and  found  a  cord  of 
some  thickness  take  the  place  of  the 
whipcord.  He  had  no  sooner  begun 
to  draw  this  up  than  he  found  that  he 
had  now  a  heavyweight  to  deal  with. 
Then  the  truth  suddeidv  flashed  on 
him,  and  he  went  to  work  and  jjulled 
and  pulled  till  the  perspiration  rolled 
down  him  :  the  weight  got  heavier 
and  heavier,  and  at  last  he  was  well- 
nigli  exhausted  ;  looking  down  he  saw 
in  the  moonlight  a  sight  that  revived 
him  :  it  was  as  it  were  a  great  snake 
coming  up  to  him  out  of  the  deep 
shadow  cast  by  the  tower.  He  gave  a 
shout  of  jo}',  aTul  a  score  more  wild 
pulls,  aiul  lo  !  a  stout  new  rojie  touched 
ins  hand  :  he  liaided  and  hauled, 
and  dragged  the  end  into  his  ])rison, 
and  instantly  passed  it  through  both 
handled  of  the  chest  in  succession, 
and  knotted  it  firmly ;  then  sat  for  a 
moment  to  recover  his  breath  and  col- 
lect his  courage.  The  first  thing  was 
to  make  sure  that  the  chest  was  sound, 
and  capalilc  of  resisting  his  weight 
poised  in  mid-air.  He  jumped  with 
all  his  force  upon  it.  At  the  third 
jump  the  whole  side  burst  open,  and 
out  scuttled  the  contents,  a  host  of 
parchments. 

After  the  first  start  and  misgiving 
this  gave  him,  Gerard  comprehended 
that  the  chest  had  not  burst  but 
opened :  he  had  doubtless  jumped 
upon  some  secret  spring.  Still  it 
shook  in  some  degree  his  confidence 
in  the  chest's  powers  of  resistance  ; 
so  he  gave  it  an  ally :  he  took  tlie 
iron  bar  and  fastened  it  ■with  the 
small  rope  across  the  large  rope,  and 
across  the  window.  He  now  mounted 
the  chest,  and  from  the  chest  put  his 
foot  through  the  window,  and  sat  half 
in  and  half  out,  with  one  hand  on 
that  part  of  the  rope  wliich  was  in- 
side. In  the  silent  night  he  heard  his 
OAvn  heart  beat. 

The  free  air  breathed  on  liis  face,  I 


and  gave  him  tlie  courage  to  risk 
what  we  must  all  lose  one  day  —  for 
liberty.  Many  dangers  awaited  him, 
but  the  greatest  was  the  first  getting 
on  to  the  ro])e  outside.  Gerard  re- 
flected. Finally  he  put  liimself  in  the 
attitude  of  a  swimmer,  his  body  to 
the  waist  being  in  the  prison,  his  legs 
outside.  Then  holding  the  inside 
rope  with  both  hands,  he  felt  anx- 
iously with  his  feet  for  the  outside 
rope,  and,  when  he  had  got  it,  he 
worked  it  in  between  the  palms  of  his 
feet,  and  kept  it  there  tight :  then  he 
uttered  a  short  prayer,  and,  all  the 
calmer  for  it,  ])ut  his  left  liand  on 
the  sill  and  gradually  wriggled  out. 
Then  he  seized  the  iron  bar,  and  for 
one  fearful  moment  hung  outside 
from  it  by  his  right  hand,  while  his 
left  hand  felt  for  the  rope  down  at  his 
knees  ;  it  was  too  tight  against  the 
wall  for  his  fingers  to  get  round  it 
higher  up.  The  moment  he  had 
fairly  grasped  it,  he  left  the  bar,  and 
swiftly  seized  the  rope  with  the  right 
hand  too ;  but  in  this  manoeuvre  his 
bodv  necessarily  fell  about  a  yard. 
A  stifled  cry  came  up  from  below. 
Gerard  hung  in  mid-air.  He  clenched 
his  teeth,  and  nipped  the  rope  tight 
with  his  feet  and  gripped  it  with  his 
hands,  and  went  down  slo^\■ly,  liand 
below  hand.  He  passed  by  one  huge 
rough  stone  after  another.  He  saw 
there  was  green  moss  on  one.  He 
looked  up  and  he  looked  down.  The 
moon  shone  into  his  prison  window  : 
it  seemed  very  near.  The  fluttering 
figures  below  seemed  an  awful  dis- 
tance. It  made  him  dizzy  to  look 
down  :  so  he  fixed  his  eyes  steadily 
on  the  wall  close  to  him,  and  went 
slowly  down,  down,  down. 

He  passed  a  rusty,  slimy  streak  on 
the  wall :  it  was  some  ten  feet  long. 
The  rope  made  his  hands  very  hot. 
He  stole  another  look  up. 

The  prison  window  was  a  good 
way  oflT  now. 

Down  —  down  —  dovm  —  down. 

The  rope  made  his  hands  sore. 

He  looked  up.  The  window  was 
so  distant,  he  ventured  now  to  turn 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


49 


his  eyes  downward  again  :  and  tliere, 
not  more  than  thirty  fijct  below  him, 
were  Margaret  and  Martin,  their  i'aith- 
ful  hands  upstretclied  to  catcli  him 
shoukl  he  fall.  lie  could  see  their 
eyes  and  their  teeth  shine  in  the  moon- 
light. For  their  mouths  were  open, 
and  they  were  breathing  hard. 

"  Take  care,  Gerard  !  0,  take  care ! 
Look  not  down." 

"  Fear  me  not,"  cried  Gerard,  joy- 
fully, and  eyed  the  wall,  but  came 
doivn  faster. 

In  another  minute  his  feet  were  at 
their  hands.  They  seized  him  ere  he 
touched  the  ground,  and  all  three 
clung  together  in  one  embrace. 

"  Hush !  away  in  silence,  dear  one." 

They  stole  along  the  shadow  of  the 
wall. 

Now,  ere  they  had  gone  man}' 
yards,  suddenly  a  stream  of  light  shot 
from  an  angle  of  the  building,  and 
lay  across  their  path  like  a  barrier  of 
fire,  and  they  heard  whispers  and  foot- 
steps close  at  hand. 

"  Back  !  "  hissed  Martin.  "  Keep 
in  the  shade." 

They  hurried  back,  passed  the 
dangling  rope,  and  made  for  a  little 
square  projecting  tower.  They  had 
barely  rounded  it,  when  the  light  shot 
trembling  past  them,  and  flickered 
uncertainly  into  the  distance. 

"  A  lantern  !  "  groaned  Martin,  iu 
a  whisper.     "  They  are  after  iis." 

"  Give  me  my  knife,"  whispered 
Gerard.     "  I  '11  never  be  taken  alive." 

"No,  no!"  murmured  INIargarot : 
"  is  there  no  way  out  where  we  are  1 " 

"None,  none.  But  I  carry  six 
lives  at  my  shoulder"  ;  and,  with  the 
word,  Martin  strung  his  bow,  and 
fitted  an  arrow  to  the  string;  "in 
war  never  wait  to  be  struck  ;  I  will 
kill  one  or  two  ere  they  shall  know 
where  their  death  comes  from  "  ;  then, 
motioning  his  companions  to  be  quiet, 
ho  began  to  draw  his  bow,  and,  ere 
the  arrow  was  quite  drawn  to  the 
head,  he  glided  round  the  corner 
ready  to  loose  the  string  the  moment 
the  enemy  should  offer  a  mark. 

Gerard  and  Margaret  held    their 


breath  in  horrible  expectation  ;  they 
had  never  seen  a  human  being  killed. 

And  now  a  wild  hope,  but  half 
repressed,  thrilled  through  Gerard, 
that  this  watchful  enemy  might  be 
the  burgomaster  in  person.  The  sol- 
dier, he  knew,  would  send  an  arrow 
through  a  burgher  or  burgomaster, 
as  he  would  through  a  boar  in  a 
wood. 

But  who  may  foretell  the  future, 
however  near  ?  The  bow,  instead  of 
remaining  firm,  and  loosing  the  dead- 
ly shaft,  was  seen  to  waver  first,  then 
sliake  violently,  and  the  stout  soldier 
staggered  back  to  them,  his  knees 
knocking  and  his  cheeks  blanched 
with  fear.  He  let  his  arrow  fall,  and 
clutched  Gerard's  shoulder. 

"Let  me  feel  flesh  and  blood,"  he 
gasped  ;  "  the  haunted  tower  !  the 
haunted  tower ! " 

His  terror  communicated  itself  to 
Margaret  and  Gerard.  They  gasped, 
rather  than  uttered,  an  inquiry. 

"  Hush ! "  he  cried,  "  it  will  hear 
you.  Up  the  wall !  it  is  going  tip  the 
wall !  Its  head  is  on  fire.  Up  the 
wall,  as  mortal  crcatixres  walk  upon 
greensward.  If  you  know  a  prayer 
say  it !  for  hell  is  loose  to-night." 

"  I  have  power  to  exorcise  spirits," 
said  Gerard,  trembling.  "I  wiU 
venture  forth." 

"  Go  alone,  then,"  said  Martin  ;  "I 
have  looked  on 't  once,  and  live." 


CHAPTER  XL 

The  strange  glance  of  hatred  the 
burgomaster  had  cast  on  Gerard, 
coupled  with  his  imprisonment,  had 
filled  the  young  man  with  a  persua- 
sion that  Ghysbrecht  was  his  enemy 
to  the  death ;  and  he  glided  round 
the  angle  of  the  tower,  fully  expect- 
ing to  sec  no  supernatural  appearance, 
but  some  cruel  and  treacherous  con- 
trivance of  a  bad  man  to  do  him  a 
mischief  in  that  prison,  his  escape 
from  which  could  hardly  be  kno\vn. 


50 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


As  he  stole  forth,  a  soft  but  brave 
hand  crept  into  liis,  and  Margaret 
was  by  his  side  to  share  this  new 
peril. 

No  sooner  was  the  haunted  tower 
visible,  tlian  a  sight  struik  their  eyes 
that  benumbed  them  as  they  stood. 
More  than  half-way  up  the  tower,  a 
creature  with  a  fiery  head,  like  an 
enormous  glow-worm,  was  steadily 
mounting  the  wall ;  the  body  was 
dark,  but  its  outline  visible  through 
the  glare  from  the  head,  and  the 
whole  creature  not  much  less  than 
four  feet  long. 

At  tiie  foot  of  the  tower  stood  a 
thing  in  white,  that  looked  exactly 
like  tiie  figure  of  a  female.  Gerard 
and  Margaret  jialpitated  with  awe. 

"  The  rope,  the  rope  !  It  is  going 
up  the  rope,"  gasped  Gerard. 

As  they  ga/.ed,  the  glow-worm  dis- 
appeared in  (Jerard's  late  jjrison,  but 
its  light  illuminated  tlie  cell  in- 
side, and  reddened  the  window.  The 
white  figure  stood  motionless  be- 
low. 

Such  as  can  retain  their  senses 
after  the  first  prostrating  effect  of  the 
supernatural  are  apt  to  experience 
terror  in  one  of  its  strangest  forms,  — 
a  wild  desire  to  fling  themselves  upon 
the  terrible  object.  It  fascinates 
them  as  the  snake  the  bird.  The 
great  tragedian  Maeready  used  to 
render  this  finely  in  Macbeth,  at  Ban- 
quo's  second  appearance.  He  flung 
himself  with  averted  head  at  the  hor- 
rible shadow.  This  strange  impulse 
now  seized  Margaret.  She  put  down 
Gerard's  hand  quietly,  and  stood  be- 
wildered ;  tlien  all  in  a  moment,  with 
a  wild  cry,  darted  towards  the  spectre. 
Gerard,  not  aware  of  the  natural 
impulse  I  have  spoken  of,  never 
doubted  the  Evil  One  was  drawing 
her  to  her  perdition.  He  fell  on  his 
knees. 

"  Exorciso  vos.  In  nomine  beatas 
Maria?,  exorciso  vos." 

While  the  exorcist  was  shrieking 
his  incantations  in  extremity  of  ter- 
ror, to  his  infinite  relief  he  heard  the 
spcf'trc  utter  a  feeble  cry  of  fear.     To 


find  that  hell  had  also  its  little  weak- 
nesses was  encouraging.  He  re- 
doubled his  exorcisms,  and  presently 
he  saw  the  ghastly  shaj)e  kneeling  at 
Margaret's  knees,  and  heard  it  pray- 
ing piteously  for  mercy. 

Kate  and  Giles  soon  reached  the 
haunted  tower.  Judge  their  surjiri.'^e 
wiien  they  found  a  new  rope  dangling 
from  the  prisoner's  window  to  the 
ground. 

"  I  .see  how  it  is,"  said  the  inferior 
intelligence,  taking  facts  as  they 
came.  "  Our  Gerard  has  come 
down  this  rope.  He  has  got  clear. 
Up  I  go,  and  see." 

"  No,  Giles,  no !  "  said  the  superior 
intelligence,  blinded  by  prejudice. 
"  See  you  not  this  is  glamour  ?  This 
rope  is  a  line  the  Evil  One  casts  out 
to  wile  thee  to  destruction.  He  knows 
the  weaknesses  of  all  our  liearts  ;  he 
has  seen  how  fond  you  are  of  going 
up  things.  Where  should  our  Ge- 
rard procure  a  rope  ?  how  fasten  it 
in  the  sky  like  this  ?  It  is  not  in 
nature,  lloly  saints  protect  us  this 
night,  for  hell  is  abroad." 

"Stuff!"  said  the  dwarf:  "the 
way  to  hell  is  down,  and  this  rope 
leads  up.  I  never  had  the  luck  to  go 
up  such  a  long  rope.  It  may  be 
years  ere  I  fall  in  with  such  a  long 
rope  all  ready  hung  for  me.  As  well 
be  knocked  on  the  head  at  once  as 
never  know  happiness." 

And  he  sprung  on  to  the  rope  with 
a  cry  of  delight,  as  a  cat  jumps  with 
a  mew  on  to  a  table  where  fish  is. 
All  the  gymnast  was  on  fire ;  and 
the  only  concession  Kate  could  gain 
from  him  was  permission  to  fasten 
the  lantern  on  his  neck  first. 

"  A  light  scares  the  ill-spirits,"  said 
she. 

And  so  with  his  huge  arms,  and 
his  legs  like  feathers,  Giles  went  u]) 
the  rope  faster  than  his  brother 
came  down  it.  The  light  at  the  najie 
of  his  neck  made  a  glow-worm  of  him 
His  sister  watched  his  progress  witJi 
trembling  anxiety.  Suddenly  a  fe- 
male figure  started  out  of  the  solid 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


51 


masonry,  and  came  flying  at  her  with 
more  than  mortal  velocity. 

Kate  uttered  a  feeble  cry.  It  was 
all  she  could,  for  her  tongue  clove  to 
her  palate  with  terror.  Then  she 
dropped  her  crutches,  and  sank  upon 
liL'r  knees,  hiding  her  face  and  moan- 
ing :  — 

"  Take  my  body,  but  spare  my 
soul !  " 

Margaret  (panting)  "Why,  it  is  a 
woman." 

Kate  (quivering).  "  Why,  it  is  a 
woman." 

Margaret.   "  How  you  scared  me  !  " 

Kate.  "  I  am  scared  enough  my- 
self.    Oh!  oh!  oh!" 

"  This  is  strange.  But  the  fiery- 
headed  thing  ?  Yet  it  was  with  you, 
and  you  are  harmless.  But  why  are 
you  here  at  this  time  of  night  ?  " 

"  Nay,  why  are  you  1  " 

"  Perhaps  we  arc  on  the  same 
errand  t  Ah,  you  are  his  good  sister, 
Kate." 

"  And  j'ou  are  Margaret  Brandt." 

"  Yea." 

"  All  the  better.  You  love  him  : 
you  are  here.  Then  Giles  was  right. 
He  has  won  free." 

Gerard  came  forward,  and  put  the 
question  at  rest.  But  all  further  ex- 
planation was  cut  short  by  a  horrible, 
unearthly  noise,  like  a  sepulchre  ven- 
triloquizing. 

"  Parchment  !  —  parcument  !  — 
parchment  !  " 

At  each  repetition  it  rose  in  inten- 
sity. They  looked  up,  and  there  was 
the  dwarf  with  his  hands  full  of 
parchments,  and  his  face  lighted  with 
fiendish  joy,  and  lurid  with  diabolical 
fire.  The  light  being  at  his  neck,  a 
more  infernal  "  transparency  "  never 
startled  mortal  eye.  With  the  word 
the  awful  imp  hurled  parchment  at 
the  astonished  heads  below.  Down 
came  records  like  wounded  wild 
ducks,  some  collapsed,  others  flutter- 
ing, and  others  spread  out  and 
wheeling  slowly  down  in  airy  circles. 
They  had  hardly  settled,  when  again 
the  sepulchral  roar  was  heard, 
"  Parchment .'  —  Parchment  !  "   and 


down  pattered  and  sailed  another 
flock  of  documents :  another  fol- 
lowed :  they  whitened*  the  grass. 
Finally,  the  firc-hcaded  imp,  with  his 
light  body  and  horny  hands,  slid 
down  the  rope  like  a  falling  star,  and 
(business  before  sentiment)  proposed 
to  his  rescued  brother  an  immediato 
settlement  for  the  merchandise  he  had 
just  delivered. 

"  Hu.sh  ! "  said  Gerard ;  "you  speak 
too  loud.  Gather  them  vip  and  follow 
us  to  a  safer  place  than  this." 

"  Will  you  not  come  home  with  me, 
Gerard  ?  "  said  little  Kate. 
"  I  have  no  home." 
"  You  shall  not  say  so.  Who  is 
more  welcome  than  you  will  be,  after 
this  cruel  wrong,  to  your  father's 
house  ■?  " 

"  Father  ?  I  have  no  father,"  said 
Gerard,  sternly.  "  He  that  was  my 
father  is  turned  my  jailer.  I  have 
escaped  from  his  hands  ;  I  will  never 
come  Avithin  their  reach  again." 

"  An  enemy  did  this,  and  not  our 
father." 

And  she  told  him  what  she  had 
overheard  Cornclis  and  Sybrandt  say. 
But  the  injury  was  too  recent  to  be 
soothed.  Gei'ard  showed  a  bitterness 
of  indignation  he  had  hitherto  seemed 
incapable  of. 

"  Cornelis  and  Sybrandt  arc  two  ill 
curs  that  have  shown  me  their  teeth 
and  their  heart  a  long  while ;  but  they 
could  do  no  more.  My  father  it  is 
that  gave  the  burgomaster  authority, 
or  he  durst  not  have  laid  a  finger  on 
me,  that  am  a  free  burgher  of  this 
town.  So  be  it,  then.  I  was  his  son  ; 
I  am  his  prisoner.  He  has  played  his 
part :  I  shall  play  mine.  Farewell 
the  burgh  where  I  was  born  and  lived 
honestly,  and  was  put  in  prison. 
While  there  is  another  town  left  in 
creation,  I  '11  never  trouble  you  again, 
Tergou." 

"  0  Gerard  !  Gerard !  " 
Margaret  whispered  her,  "Do. not 
gainsay  him  now.      Give  his  choler 
time  to  cool !  " 

Kate  turned  quickly  towards  her. 
"  Let  me  look  at  your  face  !  "     The 


52 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


inspection  was  favorable,  it  seemed, 
for  she  whispered,  "  It  is  a  comely 
face,  and  no  mischief-maker's." 

"  Fear  me  not,"  said  Margaret,  in 
the  same  tone.  "  I  could  not  be  hap- 
P3'  without  your  love  as  well  as  Ge- 
rard's." 

"  These  are  comfortable  words," 
Eobbcd  Kate.  Then,  looking  up,  she 
said,  "  I  little  thought  to  like  you  so 
well.  My  heart  is  willing,  but  my 
infirmity '  will  not  let  me  embrace 
you." 

At  this  hint,  Margaret  wound  gen- 
tly round  Gerard's  sister,  and  kissed 
her  lovingly. 

"  Often  he  has  spoken  of  you  to  me, 
Kate,  and  often  I  longed  for  this." 

"  You,  too,  Gerard,"  said  Kate, 
"  kiss  me  ere  you  go,  for  my  heart 
lies  heavy  at  parting  with  you  this 
night." 

Gerard  kissed  her,  and  she  went  on 
her  crutches  home.  The  last  thing 
they  heard  of  her  was  a  little  patient 
sigh.  Then  the  tears  came  and  stood 
thick  in  Margaret's  eyes  ;  but  Gerard 
was  a  man,  and  noticed  not  liis  sister's 
sigh. 

As  they  turned  to  go  to  Scvenber- 
gen  the  dwarf  nudged  Gerard  with  his 
bundle  of  parchments,  and  held  out  a 
concave  claw. 

Margaret  dissuaded  Gerard.  "Why 
take  what  is  not  ours  ?  " 

"  0,  spoil  an  enemy  how  you  can." 

"  But  may  they  not  make  this  a 
handle  for  fresh  violence  ?  " 

"  How  can  they  ?  Think  you  I 
shall  stay  in  Tergou  after  this '(  The 
burgomaster  robbed  me  of  my  liberty  ; 
I  doubt  I  should  take  his  life  for  it  if 
I  could." 

"  O  fie,  Gerard  !  " 

"  What  ■?  Is  life  worth  more  than 
liberty  "?  Well,  I  can't  take  his  life, 
so  I  take  the  first  thing  that  comes  to 
hand." 

He  gave  Giles  a  few  small  coins, 
with  which  the  urchin  was  gladdened, 
and  shuffled  after,  his  sister.  Marga- 
ret and  Gerard  were  speedily  joined 
by  Martin,  and  away  to  Sevenber- 
gen. 


CHAPTER  XII 

GHTsnREciiT  Van  Swieten  kept 
the  key  of  Gerard's  jjrison  in  his  pouch. 
He  waited  till  ten  of  the  clock  ere  he 
visited  him ;  for  he  said  to  himself, 
"  A  little  hunger  sometimes  does  well ; 
it  breaks  'em."  At  ten  he  crept  up 
the  stairs  with  a  loaf  and  pitcher,  fol- 
lowed by  his  trusty  sen'ant,  well 
armed.  Ghysbrecht  listened  at  the 
door.  There  was  no  sound  inside. 
A  grim  smile  stole  over  his  features. 
"  By  this  time  he  will  be  as  down- 
hearted as  Albert  Koestein  was," 
thought  he.     He  opened  the  door. 

No  Gerard. 

Ghysbrecht  stood  stupefied. 

Although  his  face  was  not  visible, 
his  body  seemed  to  lose  all  motion  in 
so  peculiar  a  way,  and  then,  after  a 
little,  he  fell  a  trembling  so,  that  the 
servant  behind  him  saw  there  was 
something  amiss,  and  crept  close  to 
him  and  peeped  over  his  shoulder. 
At  sight  of  the  empty  cell  and  the 
rope  and  iron  bar,  he  uttered  a  loud 
exclamation  of  wonder :  but  his  sur- 
prise doubled  when  his  master,  disre- 
garding all  else,  suddenly  fiung  him- 
self on  his  knees  before  the  empty 
chest,  and  felt  wildly  all  over  it  with 
quivering  hands,  as  if  unwilling  to 
trust  his  eyes  in  a  matter  so  impor- 
tant. 

The  scrs-ant  gazed  at  him  in  utter 
bewilderment. 

"  Why,  master,  what  is  the  mat- 
ter ?  " 

Ghysbrecht's  pale  lips  worked  as 
if  he  was  going  to  answer ;  but 
they  uttered  no  sound  :  liis  hands  fell 
by  his  side,  and  he  stared  into  the 
chest. 

"  Wliy,  master,  what  avails  glaring 
into  that  empty  box  ?  The  lad  is  not 
there.  See  here  !  Note  the  cunning 
of  the  young  rogue  ;  he  hath  taken 
out  the  bar,  and  —  " 

"GONE!  GONT:!  GONE!" 

"  Gone  ?  What  is  gone  ?  Holy 
saints  !  he  is  planet-struck." 

"  STOP  THIEF  ! "  shrieked  Ghys- 
brecht, and  suddenly  turned  on  his 


THE    CLOISTER   AND    THE   HEARTH. 


53 


servant  and  collared  hiin,  and  shook 
him  with  rage.  "  D'  ye  stand  there, 
k:j:ive,  and  see  your  master  robbed '? 
Kiai !  fly  !  A  hundred  crowns  to  him 
that  finds  it  me  again.  No,  no  !  't  is 
in  vain.  O  fool,  fool !  to  leave  that 
in  the  same  room  with  him.  But 
none  ever  found  tlic  secret  spring  be- 
for^i.  None  ever  would  but  he.  It 
was  to  be.  It  is  to  be.  Lost !  Lost !  " 
and  his  years  and  infirmity  now 
gained  the  better  of  his  short-lived 
frenzy,  and  he  sank  on  the  chest,  mut- 
tering, "  Lost !  lost !  " 

"  What  is  lost,  master  ?  "  asked  the 
servant,  kindly. 

"  House  and  lauds  and  good  name," 
a;roaned  Ghysbrecht,  and  wrung 
his  hands  feebly. 

"  WHAT  ?  '"'  cried  the  servant. 

The  emphatic  word,  and  the  tone 
of  eager  curiosity,  struck  on  Ghys- 
brecht's  ear,  and  revived  his  natural 
cunning. 

"  I  have  lost  the  town  records," 
stammered  he,  and  he  looked  askant 
at  the  man,  like  a  fox  caught  near  a 
hen-roost. 

"  O,  is  that  all  ?  " 

"  Is  't  not  enough  1  What  will  the 
burghers  say  to  me "?  What  will  tlie 
burgh  do  ? "  Then  he  suddenly 
burst  out  again,  "  A  hundred  crowns 
to  him  who  shall  recover  them ;  all, 
mind,  all  that  were  in  this  box.  If 
one  be  missing,  I  give  nothing." 

"  'T  is  a  bargain,  master  :  the 
hundred  crOwns  are  in  my  pouch. 
See  you  not  that  where  Gerard  Elias- 
soen  is,  there  are  the  pieces  of  sheep- 
skin you  rate  so  high  ?  " 

"  That  is  true ;  that  is  true ;  good 
Dierich ;  good,  feithful  Dierich.  All, 
mind,  all  that  were  in  the  chest." 

"  Master,  I  will  take  the  constables 
to  Gerard's  house,  and  seize  liim  for 
the  theft." 

"The  theft?  ay!  good;  very  good. 
It  is  theft.  I  forgot  that.  So,  as  he 
is  a  thief  now,  we  will  put  him  in  the 
dungeons  below ;  where  the  toads  are 
and  the  rats.  Dierich,  that  man 
must  never  see  daylight  again.  'T  is 
his  own  fault;    he  must  be  prying. 


Quick,  quick !  ere  he  has  time  to 
talk,  you  know,  time  to  talk." 

In  less  than  half  an  hour  Dierich 
Brower  and  four  constables  entered 
the  liosier's  house,  and  demanded 
young  Gerard  of  the  panic-stricken 
Catherine. 

"  Alas  !  what  has  he  done  now?  " 
cried  she  :  "  that  boy  will  break  my 
heart." 

"  Nay,  dame,  but  a  trick  of  youth," 
said  Dierich.  "  He  hath  but  made 
oif  with  certain  skins  of  parchment, 
in  a  frolic,  doubtless  ;  but  the  burgo- 
master is  answerable  to  the  burgh  for 
their  safe-keeping,  so  he  is  in  care 
about  them :  as  for  the  youth,  he 
will  doubtless  be  quit  for  a  reprimand." 

This  smooth  speech  completely  im- 
posed on  Catherine ;  but  her  daugli- 
ter  was  more  suspicious,  and  that 
suspicion  was  strengthened  by  the 
disproportionate  anger  and  disappoint- 
ment Dierich  showed  the  moment  he 
learned  Gerard  was  not  at  home,  had 
not  been  at  home  that  night. 

"  Come  away,  then,"  said  he, 
roughly.  "  We  are  wasting  time." 
He  added,  vehemently,  "  I  '11  find 
him  if  he  is  above  ground." 

Afi'ection  sharpens  the  wits,  and 
often  it  has  made  an  innocent  person 
more  than  a  match  for  the  wily. 
As  Dierich  was  going  out,  Kate 
made  liim  a  signal  she  would  speak 
with  him  privately.  He  bade  his 
men  go  on,  and  waited  outside  the 
door.     She  joined  him. 

"  Hush  !  "  said  she,  "  my  mother 
knows  not.    Gerard  has  left  Tergou." 

"  How  ?  " 

"  I  saw  him  last  night." 

"  Ay  ?  Wlicre  ? "  cried  Dierich, 
eagerly. 

"At  the  foot  of  the  harjitcd 
tower." 

"  How  did  he  get  the  rope  ?  " 

"I  know  not;  but  this  I  know; 
my  brother  Gerard  bade  me  there 
farewell,  and  he  is  many  leagues 
from  Tergou  ere  this.  The  town, 
you  know,  was  always  unworthy  of 
him,  and,  when  it  imprisoned  him, 
he  vowed  never  to  set  foot  in  it  again 


54 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


Let  the  burgomaster  be  content, 
then.  He  has  imprisoned  him,  and 
he  has  driven  him  from  his  hirthphice 
and  from  liis  native  land.  What 
need  now  to  rob  him  and  us  of  our 
good  name  ?  " 

This  might  at  another  moment 
have  struck  Dierieli  as  good  sense ; 
but  he  was  too  mortified  at  this  escape 
of  Gerard  and  the  loss  of  a  hundred 
crowns. 

"  What  need  had  he  to  steal  ?  " 
retorted  he,  bitterly. 

"  Gerard  stole  not  the  trash ;  he 
but  took  it  to  sj)ite  the  burgomaster, 
who  stole  his  liberty :  but  he  shall 
answer .  to  the  duke  for  it,  he  shall. 
As  for  these  skins  of  parchment  you 
keep  such  a  coil  about,  look  in  the 
nearest  brook,  or  sty,  and  't  is  odds 
but  you  find  them." 

"  Think  ye  so,  mistress  ?  —  think 
ye  so  ?  "  And  Dierich's  eyes 
flashed.  "  Mayhap  you  know  't  is 
so." 

"  This  I  know,  that  Gerard  is  too 
good  to  steal,  and  too  wise  to  load 
himself  with  rubbish,  going  a  jour- 
ney." 

"  Give  you  good  day,  then,"  said 
Dierich,  sharply.  "  The  sheepskin 
you  scorn,  I  value  it  more  than  the 
skin  of  any  he  in  Tergou." 

And  he  went  oft'  hastily  on  a  false 
scent. 

Kate  returned  into  the  house  and 
drew  Giles  aside. 

"  Giles,  my  heart  misgives  me  ; 
breathe  not  to  a  soul  what  I  say  to 
you.  I  have  told  Dirk  Brower  that 
Gerard  is  out  of  Holland  :  but  much 
I  doubt  he  is  not  a  league  from 
Tergou." 

"  Why,  where  is  he,  then  1 " 

"  Where  should  he  be,  but  with 
her  he  loves  ?  But,  if  so,  he  must 
not  loiter.  These  be  deep  and  dark 
and  ^vicked  men  that  seek  him. 
Giles,  I  see  that  in  Dirk  Brower's  eye 
makes  me  tremble.  0,  why  can- 
not I  fly  to  Sevenbergen,  and  bid  him 
away  1  Why  am  I  not  lusty  and 
active  like  other  girls  ?  God  forgive 
me  for  fretting  at  his  will :  but  I 


never  felt  till  now  what  it  is  to  be 
lame  and  weak  and  useless.  But  you 
are  strong,  dear  Giles,"  added  she, 
coaxingly,  "  you  are  very  strong." 

"  Yes,  I  am  strong,"  thundered 
Pcrpusillus  ;  then,  catching  sight  of 
her  meaning,  "  but  I  hate  to  go  on 
foot,"  he  added,  sulkily. 

"  Alas  !  alas .'  who  will  help  me  if 
you  will  not  ?  Dear  Giles,  do  you 
not  love  Gerard  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  like  him  best  of  the  lot. 
I  '11  go  to  Sevenbergen  on  Peter  Buy, 
skens  his  mule.  Ask  you  him,  for 
he  won't  lend  her  me." 

Kate  remonstrated.  The  whole 
town  would  follow  him.  It  woidd  be 
known  whither  he  was  gone,  and 
Gerard  be  in  worse  danger  than  be- 
fore. 

Giles  parried  this  by  promising  to 
ride  out  of  the  town  the  opposite 
way,  and  not  turn  the  mule's  head 
towards  Sevenbergen  till  he  had  got 
rid  of  the  curious. 

Kate  then  assented,  and  borrowed 
the  mule.  She  charged  Giles  with  a 
short  bixt  meaning  message,  and 
made  him  repeat  it  after  her,  over 
and  over,  till  he  could  say  it  word  for 
word. 

Giles  started  on  the  mule,  and  little 
Kate  retired,  and  did  the  last  thing 
now  in  her  power  for  her  beloved 
brother,  —  prayed  on  her  knees  long 
and  earnestly  for  his  safety. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Gerard  and  Margaret  went  gayly 
to  Sevenbergen,  in  the  first  flush  of 
recovered  liberty  and  successful  ad- 
venture. But  these  soon  yielded  to 
sadder  thoughts.  Gerard  was  an 
escaped  prisoner,  and  liable  to  be  re- 
taken, and  perhaps  punished  ;  and, 
therefore,  he  and  Margaret  would 
have  to  part  for  a  time.  Moreover, 
he  had  conceived  a  hatred  to  his  na- 
tive place.  Margaret  wished  him  to 
leave  the  country  for  a  while,  but  at 
the  thought  of  bis  going  to  Italy  her 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


55 


heart  fainted,  (lerard,  on  the  con- 
trary, was  reconciled  to  leaving  Mar- 
garet only  by  his  desire  to  visit  Ital}', 
and  his  strong  conviction  that  there 
he  should  earn  money  and  reputation, 
and  remove  every  obstacle  to  their 
marriage.  He  had  already  told  her 
all  that  the  demoiselle  Van  Eyck  had 
said  to  him.  He  repeated  it,  and  re- 
minded Margaret  that  the  gold  pieces 
were  only  given  him  to  go  to  Italy 
with.  The  journey  was  clearly  for 
Gerard's  interest.  He  was  a  crafts- 
man and  an  artist,  lost  in  this  boorish 
place.  In  Italy  they  would  know 
how  to  value  him.  On  tliis  ground, 
above  all,  the  unselfish  girl  gave  her 
consent :  but  many  tender  tears  came 
with  it,  and  at  that  Gerard,  young  and 
loWng  as  herself,  cried  bitterly  with 
her,  and  often  they  asked  one  another 
what  they  had  done  that  so  many 
different  persons  should  be  their  ene- 
mies, and  combine,  as  it  seemed,  to 
part  them. 

They  sat  hand  in  hand  till  mid- 
night, now  deploring  their  hard  fate, 
now  drawing  bright  and  hopeful  pic- 
tures of  the  future,  in  the  midst  of 
which  Margaret's  tears  would  sud- 
denly flow,  and  then  poor  Gerard's 
eloquence  would  die  away  in  a  sigh. 

The  morning  found  them  resigned 
to  part,  but  neither  had  the  courage 
to  say  when ;  and  much  I  doubt 
whether  the  hour  of  parting  ever 
would  have  struck. 

But  about  three  in  the  afternoon, 
Giles,  who  had  made  a  circuit  of 
many  miles  to  avoid  suspicion,  rode 
up  to  the  door.  They  both  ran  out 
to  him,  eager  with  curiosity. 

"  Brother  Gerard,"  cried  he,  in  his 
tremendous  tones,  "  Kate  bids  you 
run  for  your  life.  They  charge  you 
with  theft  ;  you  have  given  them  a 
handle.  Think  not  to  explain.  Hope 
not  for  justice  in  Tergou.  The  parch- 
ments you  took  they  are  but  a  blind. 
iSlie  hath  seen  your  death  in  the 
men's  eyes  :  a  price  is  on  your  head. 
Fly  1  For  Margaret's  sake  and  all 
who  love  you,  loiter  not  lile  away,  but 
flv!" 

3* 


It  was  a  thunder-clap,  and  left  two 
white  faces  looking  at  one  another, 
and  at  the  terrible  messenger. 

Then  Giles,  who  had  hitherto  but 
uttered  by  rote  what  Catherine  bade 
him,  put  in  a  word  of  his  own. 

"  All  the  constables  were  at  our 
house  after  you,  and  so  was  Dirk 
Brower.  Kate  is  wise,  Gerard.  Best 
give  ear  to  her  rede,  and  fly." 

"  O  yes  !  Gerard,"  cried  Mar- 
garet, wildly.  "  Fly  on  the  instant. 
Ah  !  those  parchments ;  my  mind 
misgave  me  :  why  did  I  let  you  take 
them  ?  " 

"Margaret,  they  are  but  a  blind! 
Giles  says  so :  no  matter,  the  old 
caitifl^  shall  never  see  them  again  :  I 
■will  not  go  till  I  have  hidden  his 
treasure  where  he  shall  never  find  it." 
Gerard  then,  after  thanking  Giles 
warmly,  bade  him  farewell,  and  told 
him  to  go  back  and  tell  Kate  he  was 
gone.  "For  I  shall  be  gone,  ere 
you  reach  home,"  said  he.  He  then 
shouted  for  Martin  ;  and  told  him 
what  had  happened,  and  begged  him 
to  go  a  little  way  towards  Tergou, 
and  watch  the  road. 

"  Ay ! "  said  Martin,  "  and  if  I  see 
Dirk  Brower,  or  any  of  his  men,  I 
will  shoot  an  arrow  into  the  oak-tree 
that  is  in  our  garden  ;  and  on  that 
you  must  run  into  the  forest  hard  by, 
and  meet  me  at  the  weird  hunter's 
spring.  Then  I  will  guide  you 
through  the  wood." 

Surprise  thus  provided  against, 
Gerard  breathed  again.  He  went 
with  Margaret,  and,  while  she  watched 
the  oak  -  tree  tremblingly,  fearing 
every  moment  to  see  an  arrow  strike 
among  the  branches,  Gerard  dug  a 
deep  hole  to  bury  the  parchments  in. 

He  threw  them  in,  one  by  one. 
They  were  nearly  all  charters  and 
records  of  the  burgh  :  but  one  ap- 
peared to  be  a  private  deed  between 
Floris  Brandt,  father  of  Peter,  and 
Ghysbrecht. 

"  Why  this  is  as  much  yours  as 
his,"  said  Gerard.  "  I  will  read 
this." 

"  O,  not  now,  Gerard,  not  now," 


56 


THE  CLOISTER  AND   THE  HEARTH. 


cried  Margaret ;  "every  moment  you 
lose  fills  nic  with  fear  ;  and  see,  large 
drops  of  rain  are  beginning  to  fall, 
and  the  clouds  lower." 

Gerard  listened  to  this  remon- 
strance ;  but  lie  put  the  deed  into  his 
bosom,  and  threw  the  earth  in  over 
the  others,  and  stamped  it  down. 
While  thus  employed,  there  came  a 
flash  of  lightning  followed  by  a  peal 
of  distant  thunder,  and  the  rain  came 
down  heavily.  Margaret  and  Gerard 
ran  into  the  house,  whither  they  were 
speedily  followed  by  Martin. 

"  The  road  is  clear,"  said  he,  "and 
a  heavy  storm  coming  on." 

His  words  proved  true.  The  thun- 
der came  nearer  and  nearer  till  it 
crashed  overhead :  the  flashes  fol- 
lowed one  another  close,  like  the 
strokes  of  a  whip,  and  the  rain  fell  in 
torrents.  Margaret  hid  her  face  not 
to  see  the  lightning.  On  this,  Gerard 
put  up  the  rough  shutter,  and  lighted 
a  candle.  The  lovers  consulted  to- 
gether, and  Gerard  blessed  the  storm 
that  gave  him  a  few  hours  more  with 
Margaret.  The  sun  set  unperceivcd, 
and  still  the  thunder  pealed  .and  the 
lightning  flashed,  and  the  rain  poured. 
Supper  was  set ;  but  Gerard  and 
Margaret  could  not  eat :  tlie  thought 
that  this  was  the  last  time  they  should 
sup  together  choked  them.  The 
storm  lulled  a  little.  Peter  retired  to 
rest.  But  Gerard  was  to  go  at  peep 
of  day,  and  neither  he  nor  Margaret 
could  afford  to  lose  an  hour  in  sleep. 
Martin  sat  awhile,  too  :  for  he  was 
fitting  a  new  string  to  his  bow, 
a  matter  in  which  he  was  very 
nice. 

The  lovers  murmured  their  sorrows 
and  their  love  beside  him. 

Suddenly  the  old  man  held  up  his 
hand  to  them  to  be  silent. 

They  were  quiet,  and  listened,  and 
heard  nothing.  But  the  next  mo- 
ment a  footstep  crackled  faintly  upon 
the  autumn  leaves  that  lay  strewn  in 
the  garden  at  the  back  door  of  the 
liousc.  To  those  who  had  nothing  to 
fear  such  a  step  would  have  said  noth- 
ing :  but  to  those  who  had  enemies  it 


was  terrible.  For  it  was  a  foot  try. 
ing  to  be  noiseless. 

Martin  fitted  an  an-ow  to  his  string, 
and  hastily  blew  out  the  candle.  At 
this  moment,  to  their  horror,  they 
heard  more  than  one  footstep  ap- 
proach the  other  door  of  the  cottage, 
not  quite  so  noiseless  as  the  other, 
but  very  stealthily,  — and  then  a  dead 
pause. 

Their  blood  froze  in  their  veins. 

"  U  Kate !  O  Kate  !  You  said  fly 
on  the  instant."  And  Margaret 
moaned  and  wrung  her  hands  in  an- 
giiish  and  terror,  and  wild  remorse 
for  having  kept  Gerard. 

"  Hush,  girl !  "  said  Martin,  in  a 
stern  whisper. 

A  heavy  knock  fell  on  the  door. 
And  on  the  hearts  within. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

As  if  this  had  been  a  concerted  sig- 
nal, the  back  door  was  struck  as  rudely 
the  next  instant.  They  were  hemmed 
in.  But  at  these  alarming  sounds 
Margaret  seemed  to  recover  some 
share  of  self-possession.  She  whis- 
pered :  "  Say  he  teas  here,  but  is  gone." 
And  with  this  she  seized  Gerard,  and 
almost  dragged  him  up  the  rude  steps 
that  led  to  her  father's  sleeping-room. 
Her  own  lay  next  beyond  it. 

The  blows  on  the  door  Averc  repeat- 
ed. 
■"  Who  knocks  at  this  hour  t  " 
"  Open,  and  you  will  see  !  " 
"  I   open  not  to  thieves,  —  honest 
men  are  all  abed  now." 

"  Open  to  the  law,  Martin  Witten- 
haagen,  or  you  shall  rue  it." 

"  Why,  that  is  Dirk  Brower's  voice, 
I  trow.  What  makes  vou  so  far  from 
Tergou  ? " 

"  Open  and  you  will  know." 
Martin  drew  the  bolt  very  slowly, 
and  in  rushed  Dierich  and  four  more. 
They  let  in  their  companion  who  was 
at  the  back  door. 


IHE    CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEAKTH. 


57 


"Kow,  Martin,  where  is  Gerard 
Eliassoen  1  " 

"  Gerard  Eliassoen  1  Wliy,  he  was 
here  bat  now." 

"  Was  here  ?  "  Dierich's  counte- 
nance fell.  "And  where  is  he 
now  1  " 

"  They  say  he  has  pone  to  Italy. 
Why  ?     Wliat  is  to  do  ? " 

"No  matter.  When  did  he  go? 
Tell  me  not  that  he  went  in  such  a 
storm  as  this  !  " 

"  Here  is  a  coil  about  Gerard  Elias- 
soen," said  Martin,  contemptuously. 
Then  he  lighted  the  candle,  and,  seat- 
ing himself  coolly  by  the  fire,  proceed- 
ed to  whip  some  fine  silk  round  his 
bowstring  at  the  place  where  the  nick 
of  the  arrow  frets  it.  "  I  '11  tell  you," 
said  he,  carelessly.  "  Know  you  his 
brother  Giles,  —  a  little  misbegotten 
imp,  all  head  and  arms  ?  Well,  he 
came  tearing  over  here  on  a  mule,  and 
bawled  out  something.  I  was  too  for 
off  to  hear  the  creature's  words,  but 
only  its  noise.  Any  way,  he  started 
Gerard ;  for,  as  soon  as  he  was  gone, 
there  was  such  crying  and  kissing,  and 
then  Gerard  went  away.  They  do  tell 
me  he  has  gone  to  Italy,  —  mayhap 
you  know  where  that  is  ;  for  I  don't." 

Dierich's  countenance  fell  lower 
and  lower  at  this  account.  There 
was  no  flaw  in  it.  A  cunninger  man 
than  Martin  would,  perhaps,  have 
told  a  lie  too  many,  and  raised  suspi- 
cion. But  Martin  did  his  task  well. 
He  only  told  the  one  falsehood  he  was 
bade  to  tell,  and  of  his  own  head  in- 
vented nothing. 

"  Mates,"  said  Dierich,  "  I  doubt 
he  speaks  sooth.  I  told  the  burgo- 
master how  't  would  be.  He  met  the 
dwarf  galloping  Peter  Buyskens's 
mule  from  Sevenbergen.  '  They  have 
sent  that  imp  to  Gerard,'  says  he  ;  '  so 
then  Gerard  is  at  Sevenbergen.' 
'  All,  master ! '  says  I,  '  't  is  too  late 
now.  We  should  have  thought  of  Sev- 
enbergen l)efore,  instead  of  wasting 
our  time  hunting  all  the  odd  corners  of 
Tergou  for  those  cursed  parchments 
that  we  shall  never  find  till  we  find 
the  man  that  took  'em.     If  he  was  at 


Sevenbergen,' quoth  I,  'and  they  sent 
the  dwarf  to  him,  it  must  have  been 
to  warn  liiin  we  were  after  him.  He 
is  leagues  away  by  now,'  quoth  I. 
Confound  that  chalk-faced  girl !  she 
has  outwitted  us  bearded  men ;  and 
so  I  told  the  burgomaster,  but  he 
would  not  hear  reason.  A  wet  jerkin 
apiece,  that  is  all  we  shall  get,  mates, 
by  this  job." 

Martin  grinned  coolly  iu  Dierich's 
face. 

"However,"  added  the  latter,  "to 
content  the  burgomaster,  we  will 
search  the  house." 

Martin  turned  grave  directly. 

This  change  of  countenance  did  not 
escape  Dierich.  He  reflected  a  mo- 
ment. 

"Watch  outside,  two  of  yon,  one  on 
each  side  of  the  house,  that  no  one 
jump  from  the  upper  windows.  The 
rest  come  with  me."  And  he  took 
the  candle  and  mounted  the  stairs, 
followed  by  three  of  his  comrades. 

Martin  was  left  alone. 

The  stout  soldier  hung  his  head.  All 
had  gone  so  well  at  first :  and  now 
this  fatal  turn !  Suddenly  it  occurred 
to  him  that  all  was  not  yet  lost.  Ge- 
rard must  be  either  in  Peter's  room 
or  Margaret's  ;  they  were  not  so  very 
high  from  the  ground.  Gerard  would 
leap  out.  Dierich  had  left  a  man  be- 
low; but  what  then?  For  half  a 
minute  Gerard  and  he  would  be  two 
to  one,  and  in  that  brief  space  what 
might  not  be  done  ? 

Martin  then  held  the  back  door  ajar 
and  watched.  The  light  shone  in 
Peter's  room.  "Curse  the  fool!" 
said  he,  "is  he  going  to  let  them  take 
him  like  a  girl  ?" 

The  light  now  passed  into  Marga- 
ret's bedroom.  Still  no  window  was 
opened.  Had  Gerard  intended  to  es- 
cape that  way  he  would  not  have 
waited  till  the  "men  were  in  the  room. 
Martin  saw  that  at  once,  and  left  the 
door,  and  came  to  the  foot-stair  and 
listened.  He  began  to  think  Gerard 
must  have  escaped  by  the  window 
while  all  the  men  were  in  the  house. 


58 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


The  longer  the  silence  continued,  the 
stronger  grew  this  conviction.  But  it 
was  suddenly  and  nidely  dissipated. 

I'aint  cries  issued  from  the  inner 
bedroom,  —  Margaret's. 

"  They  have  taken  him,"  groaned 
Martin  ;  "  they  have  got  him." 

It  now  flashed  across  Martin's  mind 
that  if  they  took  Gerard  away  his  life 
was  not  worth  a  button,  and  that  if 
evil  befell  him  Margaret's  heart  would 
break.  He  cast  his  eyes  wildly  round, 
like  some  savage  beast  seeking  an  es- 
cape, and  in  a  twinkling  formed  a 
resolution  terribly  characteristic  of 
those  iron  times  and  of  a  soldier  driv- 
en to  bay.  He  stepped  to  each  door 
in  turn,  and,  imitating  Dirk  Browcr's 
voice,  said  sharply,  "  AVatch  the  win- 
dow !  "  He  then  quietly  closed  and 
bolted  both  doors.  He  then  took  up 
his  bow  and  six  arrows ;  one  he  fitted 
to  his  string,  the  others  he  put  into 
his  quiver.  His  knife  he  placed  upon 
a  chair  behind  him,  the  hilt  towards 
him  ;  and  there  he  waited  at  the  foot 
of  the  stair  with  the  calm  determina- 
tion to  slay  those  four  men,  or  be 
slain  by  them.  Two,  he  knew,  he 
could  dispose  of  by  his  arrows  ere 
they  could  get  near  him,  and  Gerard 
and  he  must  take  their  chance,  hand 
to  hand,  with  the  remaining  pair. 
Besides,  he  had  seen  men  panic-strick- 
en by  a  sudden  attack  of  this  sort. 
Should  Brower  and  his  men  hesitate 
but  an  instant  before  closing  with 
him,  he  should  shoot  three  instead  of 
two,  and  then  the  odds  would  be  on 
the  right  side. 

He  had  not  long  to  wait.  The 
heavy  steps  sounded  in  Margaret's 
room,  and  came  nearer  and  nearer. 

The  light  also  approached,  and 
voices. 

Martin's  heart,  stout  as  it  was,  beat 
hard  to  hear  men  coming  thus  to 
their  death,  and  perhaps  to  his  ;  more 
likely  so  than  not :  for  four  is  long 
odds  in  a  battle-field  of  ten  feet  square, 
and  Gerard  might  be  bound,  perhaps, 
and  powerless  to  help.  But  this  man, 
whom  we  have  seen  shake  in  his  shoes 


at  a  Giles-o'-lantem,  never  wavered 
in  this  awful  moment  of  real  danger, 
l)ut  stood  there,  his  body  all  braced 
for  combat,  and  his  eye  glowing, 
e(iually  ready  to  take  life  and  lose  it. 
Desperate  game  !  to  win  which  was 
exile  instant  and  for  life,  and  to  lose 
it  was  to  die  that  moment  upon  that 
fioor  he  stood  on. 

Dicrich  Brower  and  his  men  found 
Peter  in  his  first  sleep.  They  opened 
his  cu})boards ;  they  ran  their  knives 
into  an  alligator  he  had  nailed  to  his 
wall ;  they  looked  under  his  bed  :  it 
was  a  large  room,  and  apparently  full 
of  hiding-places,  but  they  found  no 
Gerard. 

Then  they  went  on  to  Margaret's 
room,  and  the  very  sight  of  it  was 
discouraging,  — it  was  small  and  bare, 
and  not  a  cupboard  in  it ;  there  was, 
however,  a  large  fireplace  and  chim- 
ney. Dierich's  eye  fell  on  these  direct- 
ly.' Here  they  found  the  beauty  of 
Scvenbergen  sleeping  on  an  old  chest, 
not  a  foot  high,  and  no  attempt  made 
to  cover  it ;  laut  the  sheets  were  snowy 
white,  and  so  was  Margaret's  own  lin- 
en. And  there  she  lay,  looking  like  a 
lily  fallen  in  a  rut. 

Presently  she  awoke,  and  sat  up  in 
the  bed  like  one  amazed  ;  then,  see- 
ing the  men,  began  to  scream  faintly, 
and  pray  for  mercy. 

She  made  Dierich  Brower  ashamed 
of  his  errand. 

"  Here  is  a  to-do,"  said  he,  a  little 
confused.  "  We  are  not  going  to 
hurt  you,  my  pretty  maid.  Lie  you 
still,  and  shut  your  eyes,  and  think  of 
your  wedding  night,  while  I  look  up 
this  chimney  to  see  if  Master  Gerard 
is  there." 

"  Gerard  !  in  my  room  1 " 

"Why  not?  They  say  that  you 
and  he  —  " 

"  Cruel ;  you  know  they  have  driven 
him  away  from  me,  —  driven  him  from 
his  native  place.  This  is  a  blind. 
You  are  thieves ;  you  arc  wicked 
men ;  you  are  not  men  of  Seven- 
bergen,  or  you  would  know  Margaret 
Brandt  better  than  to  look  for  her 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


^9 


lover  in  this  room  of  all  others  in  the 
world.  O,  hnive !  Four  great  hulk- 
ing men  to  come,  anncd  to  the  teeth, 
to  insult  one  poor  honest  girl  !  The 
women  that  live  in  yonr  own  houses 
must  be  naught,  or  }'ou  would  respect 
them  too  much  to  insult  a  girl  of 
good  character." 

"  There,  come  away,  before  we 
hear  worse,"  said  Dierich,  hastily. 
"  He  is  not  in  the  chimney.  Plaster 
will  mend  what  a  cudgel  breaks  ;  but 
a  woman's  tongue  is  a  double-edged 
dagger,  and  a  girl  is  a  woman,  with 
her  mother's  milk  still  in  her."  And 
he  beat  a  hasty  retreat.  "  I  told  the 
burgomaster  how  t'  would  be." 


CHAPTER    XV. 

Where  is  the  woman  that  cannot 
act  a  part  ?  Where  is  she  who  will 
not  do  it,  and  do  it  well,  to  save  the 
man  she  loves  1  Nature  on  these 
great  occasions  comes  to  the  aid  of 
the  simplest  of  the  sex,  and  teaches 
her  to  throw  dust  in  Solomon's  eyes. 
The  men  had  no  sooner  retired,  than 
Margaret  stepped  out  of  bed,  and 
opened  the  long  chest  on  which  she 
had  been  lying  down  in  her  skirt  and 
petticoat  and  stockings,  and  night- 
dress over  all ;  and  put  the  lid,  bed- 
clothes and  all,  against  the  wall :  then 
glided  to  the  door  and  listened.  The 
footsteps  died  away  through  her  fa- 
ther's room,  and  down  the  stairs. 

Now  in  that  chest  there  was  a  pccii- 
liarity  that  it  was  almost  impossible 
for  a  stranger  to  detect.  A  part  of 
the  boarding  of  the  room  had  been 
broken,  and  Gerard,  being  applied  to 
to  make  it  look  neater,  and  being 
short  of  materials,  had  ingeniously 
sawed  away  a  space  sufficient  just  to 
admit  Margaret's  soi-disant  bed,  and 
with  the  materials  thus  acquired  he 
had  repaired  the  whole  room.  As  for 
the  bed  or  chest,  it  really  rested  on  the 
rafters  a  foot  below  the  boards.  Con- 
sequently it  was  full  two  feet  deep, 
though  it  looked  scarce  one. 


All  was  quiet.  Margaret  kneeled 
and  gave  thanks  to  Heaven.  Then 
she  glided  from  the  door,  and  leaned 
over  the  cliest,  and  whispered  tender- 
ly, "Gerard!" 

Gerard  did  not  reply. 

She  then  whispered,  a  litth;  louder, 
"  Gerard,  all  is  safe,  thank  Heaven  ! 
You  may  rise ;  but,  O,  be  cau- 
tious! " 

Gerard  made  no  reply. 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder, 
—  "  Gerard  !  " 

No  reply. 

"  Oh  !  what  is  this  ?  "  she  cried, 
and  her  hands  ran  wildly  over  his 
face  and  his  bosom.  She  took  him 
by  the  shoulders  ;  she  shook  him  ;  she 
lifted  him ;  but  lie  escaped  from  her 
trembling  hands,  and  fell  back,  not 
like  a  man,  but  like  a  body.  A  great 
dread  fell  on  her.  The  lid  had  been 
down.  She  had  lain  upon  it.  The 
men  had  been  some  time  in  the  room. 
With  all  the  strength  of  frenzy  she 
tore  him  out  of  the  chest.  She  bore 
him  in  her  arms  to  the  window.  She 
dashed  the  window  open.  The  sweet 
air  came  in.  She  laid  him  in  it  and 
in  the  moonlight.  His  face  was  the 
color  of  ashes,  his  body  was  all  limp 
and  motionless.  She  felt  his  heart. 
Horror !  it  was  as  still  as  the  rest ! 
Horror  of  horrors  !  she  had  stifled 
him  with  her  own  body. 

The  mind  cannot  all  at  once  believe 
so  great  and  sudden  and  strange  a 
calamity.  Gerard,  who  had  got  alive 
into  that  chest  scarce  five  minutes  ago, 
how  could  he  be  dead  1 

She  called  him  by  all  the  endearing 
names  that  heart  could  think  or 
tongue  could  frame.  She  kissed  him, 
and  fondled  him,  and  coaxed  him,  and 
implored  him  to  speak  to  her. 

No  answer  to  words  of  love,  such 
as  she  had  never  uttered  to  him  be- 
fore, nor  thought  she  could  utter. 
Then  the  poor  creature,  trembling  all 
over,  began  to  say  over  that  ashy  face 
little  foolish  things  that  were  at  once 
terrible  and  pitiable. 

"  0  Gerard  !  I  am  very  sorry  you 


60 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


are  dead.  I  am  very  sorry  I  have 
killed  you.  Forgive  me  for  not  let- 
ting the  men  take  you  ;  it  would  have 
been  better  than  this.  0  Gerard ! 
I  am  very,  very  sorry  for  what  I  have 
done."  Then  she  began  suddenly  to 
rave.  "  No  !  no  !  such  things  can't 
be,  or  there  is  no  God.  Jt  is  mon- 
strous. How  can  my  Gerard  be  dead  1 
How  can  I  have  killed  my  Gerard  ? 
I  love  him.  O  God  !  you  know  how 
I  love  him.  He  does  not.  I  never  told 
liim.  If  he  knew  my  heart,  he  would 
speak  to  me,  he  would  not  be  so  deaf 
to  his  ])oor  Margaret.  It  is  all  a  trick 
to  make  me  cry  out  and  betray  him  : 
but  no,  I  love  him  too  well  for  that. 
I  '11  choke  first."  And  she  seized  her 
own  throat,  to  check  her  wild  desire 
to  scream  in  her  terror  and  anguish. 

"  If  he  would  but  say  one  word. 
O  Gerard  !  don't  die  without  a  word. 
Have  mercy  on  me  and  scold  me !  but 
sj)eak  to  me  :  if  you  are  angry  with 
mc,  scold  me  !  curse  me  !  1  deserve 
it :  the  idiot  that  killed  the  man  she 
loved  better  than  herself  Ah  !  I  am 
a  murderess.  The  worst  in  all  the 
world.  Help,  help  !  I  have  murdered 
liim.     Ah  !  ah  !  ah  !  ah  !  ah  !  " 

She  tore  her  hair,  and  uttered  shriek 
after  sliriek  so  Avild,  so  piercing,  they 
fell  like  a  knell  upon  the  ears  of  Die- 
rich  Brower  and  his  men.  All  started 
to  their  feet,  and  looked  at  one  another. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Martin  Wittexhaagen,  standing 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  with  his  arrow 
drawn  nearly  to  the  head,  and  his 
knife  behind  him,  was  struck  with 
amazement  to  see  the  men  come  back 
without  Gerard  :  he  lowered  his  bow, 
and  looked  open-mouthed  at  them. 
They,  for  their  part,  were  equally 
puzzled  at  the  attitude  they  had 
caught  him  in. 

"  Why,  mates,  was  the  old  fellow 
making  ready  to  shoot  at  lis  ?  " 

"  Stuff!"  said  Martin,  recovering 
his  stolid  composure,  "  I  was  but  try- 


ing my  new  string.  There,  I  '11  un- 
string my  bow,  if  you  think  that." 

"  Humph! "  said  Dierich,  suspicious- 
ly, "  there  is  something  more  in  you 
than  I  understand  :  put  a  log  on,  and 
let  us  dry  our  hides  a  bit,  ere  we  go." 

A  blazing  fire  was  soon  made,  and 
the  men  gathered  round  it,  and  their 
clothes  anil  long  hair  were  soon  smok- 
ing from  the  cheerful  blaze.  Then  it 
was  that  the  shrieks  were  heard  in 
Margaret's  room.  They  all  started 
up,  and  one  of  them  seized  the  candle, 
and  ran  up  the  steps  that  led  to  the 
bedrooms. 

Martin  rose  hastily  too,  and,  being 
confused  by  these  sudden  screams, 
and  apprehending  danger  from  the 
man's  curiosity,  tried  to  prevent  him 
from  going  there. 

At  this  Dierich  threw  his  arms 
round  him  from  behind,  and  called 
on  the  others  to  keej)  him.  The 
man  that  hud  the  candle  got  clear 
away,  and  all  the  rest  fell  ujion  Mar- 
tin, and  after  a  long  and  fierce  strug- 
gle, in  the  course  of  whicli  they  were 
more  than  once  all  rolling  on  the  floor, 
with  Martin  in  the  middle,  they  suc- 
ceeded in  mastering  the  ohl  Samson, 
and  binding  him  hand  and  foot  with 
a  rope  they  had  brought  for  (ierard. 

Martin  groaned  aloud.  He  saw  the 
man  had  made  his  way  to  Margaret's 
room  during  the  struggle,  and  lierc 
was  he  powerless. 

"Ay,  grind  your  teeth,  you  old 
rogue,"  said  Dierich,  panting  with  the 
struggle.     "  You  sha'  n't  use  them." 

"  It  is  my  belief,  mates,  that  our 
lives  were  scarce  safe  while  this  old 
fellow's  bones  were  free." 

"  He  makes  me  think  this  Gerard 
is  not  far  off,"  put  in  another. 

"  No  such  luck,"  replied  Dierich. 
"  Hallo,  mates.  Jorian  Ketel  is  a  long 
time  in  that  girl's  bedroom.  Best  go 
and  see  after  him,  some  of  us." 

The  rude  laugh  caused  by  this  r;- 
mark  had  hardly  subsided,  when  has- 
ty footsteps  were  heard  running  along 
overhead. 

"  0,  here  he  comes  at  last.  Well, 
Jorian,  what  is  to  do  now  up  there  1  " 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


61 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

JoEiAX  Ketel  went  straight  to 
Margaret's  room,  and  there,  to  his  in- 
finite surprise,  he  found  tlie  man  he 
had  been  in  search  of,  pale  and  mo- 
tionless, his  head  in  jMargaret's  lap, 
and  she  kneeling  over  him,  mute  now, 
and  stricken  to  stone.  Her  eyes  were 
dilated  yet  glazed,  and  she  neither 
saw  the  light  nor  heard  the  man,  nor 
cared  for  anything  on  earth  but  the 
white  face  in  her  lap. 

Jorian  stood  awe-struck,  the  candle 
shaking  in  his  hand. 

"  Why,  where  was  he,  then,  all  the 
time?"' 

Margaret  heeded  him  not.  Jorian 
went  to  the  empty  chest  and  inspected 
it.  He  began  to  comprehend.  The 
girl's  dumb  and  frozen  despair  moved 
him. 

"This  is  a  sorry  sight,"  said  he; 
"it  is  a  black  night's  work:  all  for 
a  few  skins !  Better  have  gone  with 
us  than  so.  She  is  past  answering 
me,  poor  wench.  Stop  —  let  us  try 
whether — " 

He  took  down  a  little  round  mirror, 
no  bigger  than  his  hand,  and  put  it  to 
Gerard's  mouth  and  nostrils,  and  held 
it  there.  When  he  withdrew  it,  it  was 
dull. 

"There  is  life  in  him!"  said 
Jorian  Ketel  to  himself. 

Margaret  caught  the  words  instant- 
ly, though  only  muttered,  and  it  was 
as  if  a  statue  should  start  into  life  and 
passion.  She  rose  and  flung  her  arms 
round  Jorian's  neck. 

"  O  bless  the  tongue  that  tells  me 
so !"  and  she  clasped  the  great  rough 
fellow  again  and  again,  eagerly,  al- 
most fiercely. 

"There,  there!  let  us  lay  him 
wann,"  said  Jorian ;  and  in  a  moment 
he  raised  Gerard  and  laid  him  on  the 
bedclothes.  Then  he  took  out  a  flask 
he  carried,  and  filled  his  hand  twice 
with  Schiedamze,  and  flung  it  sharply 
each  time  in  Gerard's  face.  The  pun- 
gent liquor  co-operated  witli  his  re- 
covery,—  he  gave  a  faint  sigh.  O, 
never  was  sound  so  joyful  to  human 


ear !  She  flew  towards  him,  but  then 
stopped,  quivering  for  fear  she  should 
hurt  him.  She  had  lost  all  confidence 
in  herself. 

"  That  is  right,  —  let  him  alone," 
said  Jorian,  "  don't  go  cuddling  him 
as  you  did  me,  or  you  '11  drive  his 
breath  back  again.  Let  him  alone; 
he  is  sure  to  come  to.  'T  is  n't  like  as 
if  he  was  an  old  man." 

Gerard  sighed  deeply,  and  a  faint 
streak  of  color  stole  to  his  lips. 
Jorian  made  for  the  door.  He  had 
hardly  reached  it,  when  he  found  his 
legs  seized  from  behind. 

It  was  Margaret !  She  curled  round 
his  knees  like  a  serpent,  and  kissed 
his  hand,  and  fawned  on  him.  "  You 
won't  tell  ?  You  have  saved  his  life  ; 
you  have  not  the  heart  to  thrust  him 
back  into  his  grave,  —  to  undo  your 
own  good  work  ?" 

"No,  no!  It  is  not  the  first  time 
I  've  done  you  two  a  good  turn  ;  't  was 
I  told  you  in  the  church  whither  we 
had  to  take  him.  Besides,  what  is 
Dirk  Brower  to  me  ?  I  '11  see  him 
hanged  ere  I  '11  tell  him.  But  I  wish 
you'd  tell  7ne  where  the  parchments 
are?  There  are  a  hundred  crowns 
offered  for  them.  That  would  be  a 
good  windfall  for  my  Joan  and  the 
children,  you  know." 

"Ah!  they  shall  have  those  hun- 
dred crowns." 

"  What !  are  the  things  in  the 
house  ?"  asked  Jorian,  eagerly. 

"No ;  but  I  know  where  they  are : 
and,  by  God  and  St.  Bnvon,  I  swear 
you  shall  have  them  to  -  morrow. 
Come  to  me  for  them  when  you  will, 
but  come  alone." 

"I  were  mad,  else.  What!  share 
the  hundred  crowns  with  Dirk  Brow- 
er ?  And  now  may  my  bones  rot  in 
my  skin  if  I  let  a  soul  know  the  poor 
boy  is  here." 

He  then  ran  off,  lest  by  staying 
longer  he  should  excite  suspicion,  and 
have  them  all  after  him.  And  Mar- 
garet knelt,  quivering  from  head  to 
foot,  and  prayed  beside  Gerard,  and 
for  Gerard. 

"What  is  to  do?"  replied  Jorian 


G2 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


to  Dierich  Brower's  query  ;  "  why,  we 
have  scared  the  ;^irl  out  of  her  wits. 
She  was  in  a  kind  of  fit." 

"  We  had  better  all  go  and  doctor 
her,  then." 

"  O  yes  !  and  frijjhten  her  into  the 
churchyard.  Her  father  is  a  doctor, 
and  I  have  roused  liim,  and  set  him 
to  bring  her  round.  Let  us  sec  the 
fire,  will  ye  1  " 

His  off-hand  way  disarmed  all  sus- 
picion ;  and  soon  after  the  party 
agreed  that  the  kitchen  of  the  Tliree 
Kings  was  much  warmer  than  Peter's 
house,  and  they  departed,  having  first 
untied  Martin. 

"  Take  note,  mate,  that  I  was  right, 
and  the  burgomaster  wrong,"  said 
Diericli  Browcr,  at  the  door :  "  I  said 
we  should  be  too  late  to  catch  liim, 
and  we  were  too  late." 

Thus  Gerard,  in  one  terrible  niglit, 
grazed  the  prison  and  the  grave. 

And  how  did  he  get  clear  at  last  1 
Not  by  his  cunningly  contrived  hid- 
ing-place, nor  by  Margaret's  ready 
wit ;  but  by  a  good  impulse  in  one  of 
his  captors,  —  by  the  bit  of  humanity 
left  in  a  somewhat  reckless  fellow  s 
lieart,  aided  !)y  his  desire  of  gain.  So 
mixed  and  seemingly  incongruous  are 
human  motives,  so  short-sighted  our 
shrewdest  counsels. 

They  whose  moderate  natures,  or 
gentle  fates,  keep  them,  in  life's  ])as- 
sage,  from  the  fierce  extremes  of  joy 
and  anguish  our  nature  is  capable  of, 
are  perhaps  the  best,  and  certainly  the 
happiest,  of  mankind.  But  to  such 
readers  I  should  try  in  vain  to  con- 
vey what  bliss  unspeakable  settled 
now  upon  these  persecuted  lovers. 
Even  to  those  who  have  joyed  great- 
ly, and  greatly  suffered,  my  feeble 
art  can  present  but  a  pale  reflec- 
tion of  Margaret's  and  Gerard's  ecs- 
tasy. 

To  sit  and  see  a  beloved  face  come 
back  from  the  grave  to  the  world,  to 
health  and  beauty,  by  swift  grada- 
tions ;  to  see  the  roses  return  to  the 
loved  cheek,  love's  glance  to  the  loved 


eye,  and  his  words  to  the  loved  month; 
tiiis  was  Margaret's,  —  a  joy  to  bal- 
ance years  of  sorrow.  It  was  Ge- 
rard's to  awake  from  a  trance,  and 
find  his  head  ])illowcd  on  Margaret's 
arm  ;  to  hear  the  woman  he  adored 
murmur  new  words  of  elo(juent  love, 
and  shower  tears  and  tender  kisses 
and  caresses  on  him.  He  never  knew, 
till  this  sweet  moment,  how  ardently, 
how  tenderly,  she  loved  him.  lie 
thanked  his  enemies.  They  wreathed 
their  arms  sweetly  round  each  other, 
and  trouble  and  danger  seemed  a 
world,  an  age  behind  them.  They 
called  each  other  husband  and  wife. 
Were  they  not  solemnly  l)etrothed? 
And  had  they  not  stood  before  the  al- 
tar together '?  Was  not  the  blessing 
of  Holy  Church  upon  their  union  1 
—  her  curse  on  all  who  would  part 
them  1 

But,  as  no  woman's  nerves  can  bear 
with  impunity  so  terrible  a  strain, 
presently  Margaret  turned  faint,  and 
sank  on  Gerard's  shoulder,  smiling 
feebly,  but  (piite,  (|uite  unstrung. 
Then  Gerard  was  anxious,  and  would 
seek  assistance.  But  she  held  him 
with  a  gentle  grasp,  and  implored 
him  not  to  leave  her  for  a  moment. 
"  While  I  can  lay  my  hand  on  you,  I 
feel  you  are  safe,  not  else.  Foolish 
Gerard  !  nothing  ails  me.  I  am  weak, 
dcan-st,  but  hapj)y  ;  O,  so  haj)j)y  !  " 

Then  it  was  Gerard's  turn  to  sup- 
port that  dear  head,  with  its  great 
waves  of  hair  flowing  loose  over  him, 
and  nurse  her,  and  soothe  her  quiver- 
ing on  his  bosom,  with  soft  encourag- 
ing words  and  murmurs  of  love,  and 
gentle  caresses.  Sweetest  of  all  her 
charms  is  a  woman's  weakness  to  a 
manly  heart. 

Poor  things !  they  were  happy. 
To-moiTow  they  must  part.  But  that 
was  nothing  to  them  now.  They  had 
seen  Death,  and  all  other  troubles 
seemed  light  as  air.  While  there  is 
life  there  is  hope  :  while  there  is  hope 
there  is  joy.  Separation  for  a  year 
or  two,  what  was  it  to  them  who 
were  so  young,  and  had  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  grave  ?     The  future 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE   HEARTH. 


63 


was  bright,  the  present  was  heaven  : 
80  passed  the  blissfal  hours. 

Alas !  their  innocence  ran  other 
risks  besides  the  prison  and  the  grave  ; 
they  were  in  most  danger  from  their 
own  hearts  and  their  inexperience, 
now  that  visible  danger  there  was 
none. 


CHAPTER  XVm. 

Ghysbrecht  van  Swieten  could 
not  sleep  all  night  for  anxiety.  He 
was  afraid  of  thunder  and  lightning  ; 
or  he  would  have  made  one  of  the 
party  that  searched  Peter's  house.  As 
soon  as  the  storm  ceased  altogether, 
he  crept  down  stairs,  saddled  his 
mule,  and  rode  to  the  Three  Kings  at 
Sevenbergen.  There  he  found  his 
men  sleeping,  some  on  the  chairs, 
some  on  the  tables,  some  on  the  floor. 
He  roused  them  furiously,  and  heard 
the  story  of  their  unsuccessful  search, 
interlarded  with  praises  of  their  zeal. 

"  Fool !  to  let  you  go  without  me," 
cried  the  burgomaster.  "  My  life  on  't 
he  was  there  all  the  time.  Looked  ye 
under  the  girl's  bed  ?  " 

"  No :  there  was  no  room  for  a 
man  there." 

"  How  know  ye  that,  if  ye  looked 
not  f  "  snarled  Ghysbrecht.  "  Ye 
should  have  looked  under  her  bed  and 
in  it,  too  ;  and  sounded  all  the  panels 
with  your  knives.  Come,  now,  get 
up,  and  I  shall  show  ye  how  to 
search." 

Dierich  Brower  got  up,  and  shook 
himself:  "  If  you  find  him,  call  me  a 
horse  and  no  man." 

In  a  few  minutes  Peter's  house  was 
again  surrounded. 

The  fiery  old  man  left  his  mule  in 
the  hands  of  Jorian  Ketel,  and,  with 
Dierich  Brower  and  the  others,  en- 
tered the  house. 

The  house  was  empty. 

Not  a  creature  to  be  seen,  not  even 
Peter.  They  went  up  stairs,  and 
then  suddenly  one  of  the  men  gave 
a  shout  and  pointed  through  Peter's 
window,  which  was  open.    The  others 


looked,  and  there,  at  some  little  dis- 
tance, walking  quietly  across  the 
fields  with  Margaret  and  Martin,  was 
the  man  they  sought.  Ghysbrecht, 
with  an  exulting  yell,  descended  the 
stairs,  and  flung  himself  on  his  mule ; 
and  he  and  his  men  set  off  in  hot 
pursuit. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Gerard,  warned  by  recent  peril, 
rose  before  daybreak,  and  waked 
Martin.  The  old  soldier  was  aston- 
ished. He  thought  Gerard  had 
escaped  by  the  window  last  night. 
Being  consulted  as  to  the  best  way 
for  him  to  leave  the  country  and 
elude  pursuit,  he  said  there  was  but 
one  road  safe.  "  I  must  guide  you 
through  the  great  forest  to  a  bridle- 
road  I  know  of  This  will  take  you 
speedily  to  a  hostelry,  where  they 
will  lend  you  a  swift  horse  ;  and  then 
a  day's  gallop  will  take  you  out  of 
Holland.  But  let  us  start  ere  the 
folk  here  quit  their  beds." 

Peter's  house  was  but  a  furlong 
and  a  half  from  the  forest.  They 
started,  Martin  with  his  bow  and 
three  arrows,  for  it  was  Thursday : 
Gerard  with  nothing  but  a  stout  oak 
staff  Peter  gave  him  for  the  journey. 

Margaret  pinned  up  her  kirtle  and 
farthingale,  for  the  road  was  wet. 
Peter  went  as  far  as  his  garden  hedge 
with  them,  and  then,  with  more 
emotion  than  he  often  bestowed  upon 
passing  events,  gave  the  young  man 
his  blessing. 

The  sun  was  peeping  above  the 
horizon  as  they  crossed  the  stony 
field  and  made  for  the  wood.  They 
had  crossed  about  half,  when  Mar- 
garet, who  kept  nervously  looking 
back  every  now  and  then,  uttered  a 
cri%  and,  following  her  instinct,  began 
to  run  towards  the  woods,  screaming 
with  terror  all  the  way. 

Ghj-sbrecht  and  his  men  were  in 
hot  pursuit. 

Resistance  would  have  been  mad- 
ness.     Martin  and  Gerard  followed 


64 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


Margaret's  example.  The  pursuers 
gained  slightly  on  them  ;  but  Martin 
kept  shouting,  "  Only  win  the  wood  ! 
only  win  the  wood  !  " 

They  had  too  good  a  start  for  the 
men  on  foot,  and  their  hearts  hound- 
ed with  hope  at  Martin's  words,  for 
the  great  trees  seemed  now  to  streteh 
their  branches  like  friendly  arms 
towards  them,  and  their  leaves  like  a 
screen. 

Hut  an  unforeseen  danger  attacked 
them.  The  fiery  old  burgomaster 
flung  himself  on  his  mule,  and,  spur- 
ring him  to  a  gallop,  he  headed  not 
his  own  men  only,  but  the  fugitives. 
His  object  was  to  cut  them  off.  The 
old  man  came  galloping  in  a  semi- 
oirele,  and  got  on  the  edge  of  the 
wood,  right  in  front  of  Gerard  :  the 
otliers  might  escape  for  aught  lie  cared. 

Margaret  shrieked  and  tried  to 
protect  Gerard  by  clasping  liim  ;  but  he 
shook  her  off  without  ceremony. 

Gliysbrccht  in  his  ardor  forgot  that 
hunted  animals  turn  on  the  hunter ; 
and  that  two  men  can  hate,  and  two 
can  long  to  kill  the  thing  they  hate. 

Instead  of  attempting  to  dodge 
him,  as  the  burgomaster  made  sure 
he  would,  Gerard  Acav  right  at  him 
with  a  savage,  exulting  cry,  and 
struck  at  him  with  all  his  heart  and 
soul  and  strength.  The  oak  staff 
came  <l()wn  on  Ghysbrecht's  face  with 
a  frightful  crash,  and  laid  him  under 
his  mule's  tail,  beating  the  Devil's 
tattoo  with  his  heels,  his  face  stream- 
ing, and  his  collar  spattered  with 
blood. 

The  next  moment  the  three  were 
in  the  wood.  The  yell  of  dismay 
and  vengeance  that  burst  from  Ghys- 
brecht's men  at  that  terrible  blow 
which  felled  their  leader  told  the 
fugitives  that  it  was  now  a  race  for 
life  or  death. 

"  Why  run  ?  "  cried  Gerard,  pant- 
ing. "  You  have  your  bow,  and  I  have 
this  ;  and  he  shook  his  bloody  staff. 

"  Bov  !  "  roared  Martin  ;  "  the 
GALLOWS  !  Follow  me  !  "  and  he 
fled  into  the  wood.  Soon  they  heard 
a  cry  like  a  pack  of  hounds  opening 


on  sight  of  the  game.  The  men 
were  in  the  wood,  and  saw  them  flit- 
ting amongst  the  trees.  Margaret 
moaned  and  panted,  as  she  ran  ;  and 
Gerard  clenched  his  teeth,  and  grasped 
his  staff.  The  next  minute  they 
came  to  a  stiff  hazel  coppice.  Mar- 
tin dashed  into  it,  and  shouldered  the 
young  wood  aside  as  if  it  were  stand- 
ing corn. 

Ere  they  had  gone  fifty  yards  in  it 
they  came  to  four  blind  paths. 

Martin  took  one.  "  Bend  low," 
said  he ;  and,  half  creej)ing,  they 
glided  along.  Presently  their  path 
was  again  intersected  with  other  little 
tortuous  paths.  They  took  one  of 
them  ;  it  seemed  to  lead  back,  but  it 
soon  took  a  turn,  and,  after  a  while, 
brought  them  to  a  thick  jiine  grove, 
where  the  walking  was  good  and 
hard ;  there  were  no  ])aths  here,  and 
the  young  tir-trees  were  so  thick  you 
could  not  see  three  yards  before  your 
nose. 

When  the}'  had  gone  some  way  in 
this,  Martin  sat  down,  and,  having 
learned  in  war  to  lose  all  impression 
of  danger  with  the  danger  itself,  took 
a  piece  of  bread  and  a  slice  of  ham 
out  of  his  wallet,  and  began  quietly 
eating  his  breakfast. 

The  young  ones  looked  at  him  with 
dismay.    He  replied  to  their  looks  :  — 

"  All  Sevenbergcn  could  not  find 
you  now.  You  will  lose  your  purse, 
Gerard,  long  before  you  get  to 
Italy.  Is  that  the  way  to  carry  a 
purse  ? " 

Gerard  looked,  and  there  was  a 
large  triangular  purse,  entangled  by 
its  chains  to  the  buckle  and  strap  of 
his  wallet. 

"  This  is  none  of  mine,"  said  he. 
"What  is  in  it,  I  wonder ?"  and  he 
tried  to  detach  it,  but  in  passing 
through  the  coppice  it  had  become 
inextricably  entangled  in  his  strap 
and  buckle.  "  It  seems  loath  to 
leave  me,"  said  Gerard,  and  he  had 
to  cut  it  loose  with  his  knife.  The 
purse,  on  examination,  proved  to  be 
well  provided  with  silver  coins  of  all 
sizes,  but  its  bloated  appearance  was 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


65 


g:rcatly  owing  to  a  number  of  pieces 
of  brown  paper,  folded  and  doubled. 

A  light  burst  on  Gerard.  "  Why, 
it  must  be  that  old  thief's  ^  and  see  ! 
stuffed  Avith  paper  to  deceive  the 
world !  " 

The  wonder  was,  how  the  burgo- 
master's purse  came  on  Gerard. 

They  hit  at  last  upon  the  right  so- 
lution. The  purse  must  have  been 
at  Ghysbrecht's  saddle-bow,  and  Ge- 
rard, rushing  at  his  enemy,  had  un- 
consciously torn  it  away,  thus  felling 
his  enemy  and  robbing  him,  with  a 
single  gesture. 

Gerard  was  delighted  at  this  feat, 
but  Margaret  was  uneasy. 

"  Throw  it  away,  Gerard,  or  let 
Martin  take  it  back.  Already  they 
call  you  a  thief.     I  cannot  bear  it." 

"  Throw  it  away  1  give  it  him 
back  ?  not  a  stiver.  This  is  spoil 
lawfully  won  in  battle  from  an  ene- 
my.    Is  it  not,  Martin  1 " 

"  Why,  of  course.  Send  him  back 
the  brown  paper,  an  j-ou  will ;  but  the 
jnirse  or  the  coin,  — that  were  a  sin." 

"  0  Gerard  !  "  said  Margaret, 
"you  are  going  to  a  distant  land. 
We  need  the  good-will  of  Heaven. 
How  can  we  hope  for  that,  if  we  take 
what  is  not  ours  "?  " 

But  Gerard  saw  it  in  a  different 
light. 

"  It  is  Heaven  that  gives  it  me  by  a 
miracle,  and  I  shall  cherish  it  accord- 
ingly," said  this  pious  youth.  "  Thus 
the  favored  people  spoiled  the  Egyp- 
tians, and  were  blessed." 

"  Take  your  own  way,"  said  Mar- 
garet, humbly,  "you  are  wiser  than 
I  am.  You  are  my  husband,"  added 
she,  in  a  low,  murmuring  voice  ;  "  is 
it  for  me  to  gainsay  you '?  " 

These  humble  words  from  Mar- 
garet, who,  till  that  day,  had  held 
the  whip  hand,  rather  surprised  Mar- 
tin for  the  moment.  They  recurred 
to  him  some  time  afterwards,  and 
they  then  surprised  him  less. 

Gerard  kissed  her  tenderly  in  re- 
turn for  her  wife-like  docility,  and 
they  pursued  their  journey  hand  in 
hand,  Martin  leading  the  yvny,  into 


the  depths  of  the  huge  forest.  The 
farther  they  went,  the  more  absolutely 
secure  from  pursuit  they  felt.  In- 
deed, the  towns-i)eoplc  never  ventured 
so  far  as  this  into  the  trackless  part 
of  the  forest. 

Impetuous  natures  repent  quickly. 
Gerard  was  no  sooner  out  of  all  dan- 
ger, than  his  conscience  began  to 
prick  him. 

"  Martin,  would  I  had  not  struck 
quite  so  hard." 

"  Whom  ?  Oh  !  let  that  pass  ;  he 
is  cheap  served." 

"Martin,  I  saw  his  gray  hairs  as 
my  stick  fell  on  him.  I  doubt  they 
will  not  from  my  sight  this  while." 

Martin  grunted  with  contempt. 
"  Who  spares  a  badger  for  his  gray 
hairs "?  The  grayer  your  enemy  is, 
the  older  ;  and  the  older  the  craftier  ; 
and  the  craftier  the  better  for  a  little 
killing." 

"  Killing  ?  Killing,  Martin  ?  speak 
not  of  killing  !  "  And  Gerard  shook 
all  over. 

"  I  am  much  mistook  if  you  have 
not,"  said  Martin,  cheerfully. 

"  Now  Heaven  forbid  !  " 

"  The  old  vagabond's  skull  cracked 
like  a  walnut.     Aha  !  " 

"  Heaven  and  the  saints  forbid  it  I  " 

"  He  rolled  off  his  mule  like  a 
stone  shot  out  of  a  cart.  Said  I  to 
myself, 'There  is  one  wiped  out.'" 
And  the  iron  old  soldier  grinned 
ruthlessly. 

Gerard  fell  on  his  knees,  and  began 
to  pray  for  this  enemy's  life. 

At  this  Martin  lost  his  patience. 
"  Here  's  mummery.  What,  you  that 
set  up  for  leai'ning,  know  you  not 
that  a  wise  man  never  strikes  his 
enemy  but  to  kill  him  1  And  what  is 
all  this  cod  about  killing  of  old 
men  ?  If  it  had  been  a  young  one 
now,  with  the  joys  of  life  waiting  for 
him,  wine,  women,  and  pillage  1  But 
an  old  fellow  at  the  edge  of  the  gi-ave, 
why  tiot  shove  him  in  ?  Go  he  must, 
to-day  or  to-morrow ;  and  what  bet- 
ter place  for  graybeards  ?  Now,  if 
ever  I  should  be  so  mischancy  as  to 
last  so  long  as  Ghysbrecht  did,  and 


6G 


THE    CLOISTER   AND   THE    HEARTH. 


have  to  po  on  a  mule's  IcffS  instead  of 
Martin  Wittenhaagcn's,  and  a  back 
like  this  (striking  the  wood  of  his 
bow),  instead  of  this  (striking  the 
string),  I  '11  thank  and  bless  any 
young  fellow  who  will  knock  me 
on  the  head,  as  you  have  done  that 
old  shopkeeper ;  malison  on  his  mem- 
ory." 

"  Oh,  culpa  mea  !  culpa  mca !  "  cried 
Gerard,  and  smote  upon  his  breast. 

"  Look  there,"  said  Martin  to  Mar- 
garet, scornfully,  "he  is  a  priest  at 
heart  still;  and  when  he  is  not  in  ire, 
St.  Paul,  what  a  milksop !  " 

"  Tush,  Martin  !  "  cried  Margaret, 
reproachfully  :  then  she  wreathed  her 
arms  round  Gerard,  and  comforted 
liim  with  the  double  magic  of  a  wo- 
man's sense  and  a  woman's  voice. 

"  Sweetheart  !  "  murmured  she, 
"you  forget:  you  went  not  a  step 
out  of  the  way  to  harm  him,  who 
hunted  you  to  your  death.  You  fled 
from  him.  lie  it  was  who  spurred 
on  you.  Then  did  you  strike ;  but 
in  self-defence,  and  a  single  i)low,  and 
with  that  which  was  in  your  hand. 
Malice  had  drawn  knife,  or  struck 
again  and  again.  How  often  have 
men  been  smitten  with  staves  not  one 
but  many  blows,  yet  no  lives  lost. 
If  then  yonr  enemy  has  fallen,  it  is 
through  his  own  malice,  not  yours, 
and  by  the  will  of  God." 

"  Bless  you,  Margaret,  bless  you 
for  thinking  so  ! " 

"  Yes,  but,  beloved  one,  if  you  have 
had  the  misfortune  to  kill  that  wicked 
man,  the  more  need  is  there  that  you 
fly  with  haste  from  Holland.  O,  let 
us  on." 

"  Nay,  Margaret,"  said  Gerard. 
"  I  fear  not  man's  vengeance,  thanks 
to  Martin  here  and  this  thick  wood  : 
only  Him  I  fear  whose  eye  pierces  the 
forest,  and  reads  the  heart  of  man. 
If  I  but  struck  in  self-defence,  't  is 
well ;  but  if  in  hate,  he  may  bid  the 
avenger  of  blood  follow  me  to  Italy. 
To  Italy  ?  ay,  to  earth's  remotest 
bounds." 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Martin,  peevishly. 
"  I  can't  hear  for  your  chat. ' 


"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Do  you  hear  nothing,  Margaret  1 
My  ears  are  getting  old." 

Margaret  listened,  and  presently 
she  heard  a  tuneful  sounil,  like  a 
single  stroke  upon  a  deep  ringing 
bell.     She  described  it  so  to  Martin. 

"  Nay,  I  heard  it,"  said  he. 

"And  so  did  I,"  said  Gerard  ;  "  it 
was  beautiful.  Ah  !  there  it  is  again. 
How  sweetly  it  blends  with  the  air. 
It  is  a  long  way  oft".  It  is  before  us  ; 
is  it  not  ?  " 

"  No,  no  !  the  echoes  of  this  wood 
confound  the  ear  of  a  stranger.  It 
comes  from  the  pine  grove." 

"  What,  the  one  we  passed  ?  " 

"  The  one  we  passed." 

"Why,  Martin,  is  this  anything? 
You  look  pale." 

"  Wonderful !  "  said  Martin,  with 
a  sickly  sneer.  "  He  asks  me,  is  it 
anything  ?  Come,  on,  on  !  at  any 
rate,  let  us  reach  a  better  place  than 
this." 

"  A  better  place,  —  for  what  ?  " 

"  To  stand  at  bay,  Gerard,"  said 
Martin,  gravely,  "  and  die  like  sol- 
diers, killing  three  for  one." 

"  What  's  that  sound  ?  " 

"IT  IS  THE  AVENGER  OF 
BLOOD." 

"  O  Martin,  save  him  !  O  Heaven, 
be  merciful !  What  new  mysterious 
peril  is  this  f  " 

"  GlllL,  IT  'S  A  BLOOD. 
HOUND." 


CHAPTER  XX. 

The  courage,  like  the  talent,  of 
common  men  runs  in  a  narrow 
groove.  Take  them  but  an  inch  out 
of  that,  and  they  are  done.  Martin's 
courage  was  perfect  as  far  as  it  went. 
He  had  met  and  baffled  many  dangers 
in  the  course  of  his  rnde  life,  and 
these  familiar  dangers  he  could  face 
with  Spartan  fortitude,  almost  with 
indifference ;  but  he  had  never  been 
hunted  by  a  bloodhound:  nor  had  he 
ever  seen  that  brute's  unerring  instinct 
baffled  by  human  cunning.  Here,  then. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


67 


u  sense  of  the  supernatural  combined 
with  novelty  to  unsteel  his  heart. 
After  going  a  few  steps,  he  leaned  on 
his  bow,  and  energy  and  hope  oozed 
out  of  him.  Gerard,  to  whom  the 
danger  appeared  slight  in  proportion 
as  it  was  distant,  urged  him  to  flight. 

"  What  avails  it  1 "  said  Martin,  sad- 
\y  ;  "  if  we  get  clear  of  the  wood,  we 
shall  die  cheap ;  here,  hard  by,  I  know 
a  place  Avhere  \vc  may  die  dear." 

"  Alas,  good  Martin,"  cried  Gerard, 
"  despair  not  so  quickly  ;  there  must 
be  some  way  to  escape." 

"  0  Martin !  "  cried  Margaret, 
"  what  if  we  were  to  part  company  ■? 
Gerard's  life  alone  is  forfeit.  Is  there 
no  way  to  draw  the  pursuit  on  us 
twain,  and  let  him  go  safe  ?  " 

"  Girl,  you  know  not  tlie  blood- 
hound's nature.  He  is  not  on  this 
man's  track  or  that ;  he  is  on  the 
track  of  blood.  My  life  on  't  they 
have  taken  him  to  where  Gh3'sbrecht 
fell,  and  from  the  dead  man's  blood 
to  the  man  that  shed  it  that  cursed 
hound  will  lead  them,  though  Gerard 
should  run  through  an  army,  or  swim 
the  Meuse."  And  again  he  leaned 
upon  his  bow,  and  his  head  sank. 

The  hound's  mellow  voice  rang 
through  the  wood. 

"  A  cry  more  tuDable 
Was  never  halloed  to,  nor  cheered  with  horn, 
In  Crete,  in  Sparta,  or  in  Thessaly." 

Strange  that  things  beautiful  should 
be  terrible  and  deadly.  The  eye  of 
the  boa-constrictor,  while  fascinating 
its  prey,  is  lovely.  No  royal  crown 
holds  such  a  jewel ;  it  is  a  ruby  with 
the  emerald's  green  light  playing  ever 
upon  it.  Yet  the  deer  that  sees  it 
loses  all  power  of  motion,  and  trem- 
bles, and  awaits  liis  death ;  and  even 
so,  to  compare  hearing  with  sight,  this 
sweet  and  mellow  sound  seemed  to 
lascinate  Martin  Wittenhaagen.  He 
stood  uncertain,  bewildered,  and  un- 
nerved. Gerard  was  little  better  now. 
Martin's  last  Avords  had  daunted  him. 
He  had  struck  an  old  man  and  shed 
his  blood,  and,  by  means  of  that  very 
blood,  blood's  four-footed  avenger  was 


on  his  track.     Was  not  the  finger  of 
Heaven  in  this  t 

Whilst  the  men  were  thus  be- 
numbed, the  Avoman's  brain  was  all 
activity.  The  man  she  loved  was  in 
danger. 

"  Lend  me  your  knife,"  said  she  to 
Martin.     He  gave  it  her. 

"  But  't  will  be  little  use  in  your 
hands,"  said  he. 

Then  Margaret  did  a  sly  thing. 
She  stepped  behind  Gerard,  and  fur- 
tively drew  the  knife  across  her  arm, 
and  made  it  bleed  freely  ;  then,  stooj> 
ing,  smeared  her  hose  and  shoes ;  and 
still  as  the  blood  trickled  she  smeared 
them  ;  but  so  adroitly  that  neither 
Gerard  nor  Martin  saw.  Then  she 
seized  the  soldier's  arm. 

"  Come,  be  a  man  !  "  she  said,  "  and 
let  this  end.  Take  us  to  some  thick 
place,  where  numbers  will  not  avail 
our  foes." 

"  I  am  going,"  said  Martin,  sulkily. 
"  Hurry  avails  not ;  we  cannot  shun 
the  hound,  and  the  place  is  hard  by  "  ; 
then,  turning  to  the  left,  he  led  the 
way,  as  men  go  to  execution. 

He  soon  brought  them  to  a  thick 
hazel  coppice,  like  the  one  that  had 
fiivored  their  escape  in  the  morning. 

"  There,"  said  he,  "  this  is  but  a 
furlong  broad,  but  it  will  serve  our 
turn." 

"  What  are  we  to  do  ?  " 

"  Get  through  this,  and  wait  on  the 
other  side  ;  then,  as  they  come  strag- 
gling through,  shoot  three,  knock  two 
on  the  head,  and  the  rest  will  kill 
us." 

"Is  that  all  you  can  think  of?" 
said  Gerard. 

"  That  is  all." 

"  Then,  Martin  Wittenhaagen,  I 
take  the  lead  ;  for  you  have  lost  your 
head.  Come,  can  you  obey  so  young 
a  man  as  I  am  ?  " 

"  O  yes,  Martin,"  cried  Margaret, 
"  do  not  gainsay  Gerard.  He  is 
wiser  than  his  years." 

Martin  yielded  a  sullen  assent. 

"  Do  then  as  you  see  me  do,"  .said 
Gerard,  and,  drawing  his  huge  knile, 
he  cut  at  every  step  a  hazel  shoot  ot 


68 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


two  close  by  the  ground,  and,  turning 
round,  twisted  them  breast-high  bc- 
hiiui  him  among  the  standing  shoots. 
Martin  did  the  same,  Init  with  a  dog- 
ged, hopeless  air.  When  they  had 
thus  painfully  travelled  through  the 
greater  part  of  the  coppice,  the  blood- 
hound's deep  bay  came  nearer  and 
iienrcr,  less  and  less  musical,  louder 
and  sterner. 

Margaret  trembled. 

Martin  went  down  on  his  stomach 
and  listened. 

"  I  iiear  a  horse's  feet." 

"  No,"  said  Gerard.  "  I  doubt  it 
is  a  mule's.  That  cursed  Ghysbrecht 
is  still  alive  ;  none  other  would  follow 
me  u])  so  bitterly." 

"  Never  strike  your  enemy  but  to 
slay  him,"  said  Martin,  gloomily. 

"  I  '11  hit  harder  this  time,  if  Heav- 
en gives  me  the  chance,"  said  Ge- 
rard. 

At  last  they  worked  through  the 
coppice,  and  there  was  an  open  wood. 
The  trees  were  large,  but  far  apart, 
and  no  escape  possible  that  way. 

And  now  with  the  hound's  bay  min- 
gled a  score  of  voices,  whooping  and 
hallooing. 

"  The  whole  village  is  out  after  us," 
said  Martin. 

"  I  care  not,"  said  Gerard.  "  Lis- 
ten, Martin.  I  have  made  the  track 
smooth  to  the  dog,  but  rough  to  the 
men,  that  we  may  deal  with  them 
apart.  Thus  the  hound  will  gain  on 
the  men,  and  as  soon  as  he  comes  out 
of  the  coppice  we  must  kill  him." 

"  The  hound  ?  There  are  more 
than  one." 

"  I  hear  but  one." 

"Ay!  but  one  speaks,  the  others 
nm  mute  ;  but  let  the  leading  hound 
lose  the  scent,  then  another  shall  give 
tongue.  There  will  be  tvvo  dogs  at 
least,  or  devils  in  dogs'  hides." 

"  Then  we  must  kill  two  instead  of 
one.  The  moment  they  are  dead, 
into  the  coppice  again,  and  go  right 
back." 

"  That  is  a  good  thought,  Gerard !  " 
said  ^lartin,  plucking  up  heart. 

"  Hush !  the  men  are  in  the  wood." 


Gerard  now  gave  his  orders  in  a 
whisper. 

"  IStand  you  with  your  bow  by  the 
side  of  the  coppice,  —  there,  in  the 
ditch.  I  will  go  but  a  few  yards  to 
yon  oak-tree,  and  hide  behind  it ;  the 
dogs  will  follow  me,  and,  as  they 
come  out,  shoot  as  many  as  you  can, 
the  rest  will  I  brain  as  they  come 
round  the  tree." 

Martin's  eye  flashed.  They  took 
up  their  places. 

The  whooping  and  hallooing  came 
closer  and  closer,  and  soon  even  the 
rustling  of  the  young  wood  was 
heard,  and  every  now  and  then  the 
unerring  bloodhound  gave  a  single 
bay. 

It  was  terrible  !  the  branches  rus- 
tling nearer  and  nearer,  and  the  in- 
evitable struggle  for  life  and  death 
coming  on  minute  by  minute,  and 
that  death-knell  leading  it.  A  trem- 
bling hand  was  laid  on  Gerard's 
shoulder.  It  made  him  start  violent- 
ly, strung  up  as  he  was. 

"  Martin  says,  if  we  are  forced  to 
part  company,  make  for  that  high 
ash-tree  we  came  in  by." 

"  Yes  !  yes  !  yes  !  but  go  back  for 
Heaven's  sake !  don't  come  here,  all 
out  in  the  open  ! " 

She  ran  back  towards  Martin  ;  but, 
ere  she  could  get  to  him,  suddenly  a 
huge  dog  burst  out  of  the  coppice, 
and  stood  erect  a  moment.  Margaret 
cowered  with  fear,  but  he  never  no- 
ticed her.  Scent  was  to  him  what 
sight  is  to  us.  He  lowered  his  nose 
an  instant,  and  the  next  moment, 
with  an  awful  yell,  s])rang  straight  at 
Gerai'd's  tree,  and  rolled  head  over 
heels  dead  as  a  stone,  literally  spitted 
by  an  arrow  from  the  bow  that 
twanged  beside  the  coppice  in  Mar- 
tin's' hand.  That  same  moment  out 
came  another  hound,  and  smelt  his 
dead  comrade.  Gerard  rushed  out  at 
him  ;  but,  ere  he  could  use  his  cudgel, 
a  sti'cak  of  white  lightning  seemed  to 
strike  the  hound,  and  he  grovelled  in 
the  dust,  wounded  desperately,  but 
not  killed,  and  howling  piteously. 

Gerard  had  not  time  to  despatch 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE   HEARTH. 


69 


him ;  the  coppice  rustled  too  near  : 
it  seemed  alive.  Pointing  wildly  to 
Martin  to  go  back,  Gerard  ran  a  few 
yards  to  the  right,  then  cx'ept  cau- 
tiously into  the  thick  coppice  just  as 
three  men  hurst  out.  These  had 
headed  their  comrades  considerably  ; 
the  rest  were  following  at  various 
distances.  Gci'ard  crawled  back  al- 
most on  all-fours.  Instinct  taught 
Martin  and  Margaret  to  do  tlie  same 
upon  their  line  of  retreat.  Thus, 
within  the  distance  of  a  few  yards, 
the  pursuers  and  pursued  were  pass- 
ing one  another  upon  opposite  tracks. 

A  loud  cry  announced  the  discov- 
ery of  the  dead  and  the  wounded 
hound.  Then  followed  a  babble  of 
voices,  still  swelling  as  fresh  pursuers 
reached  the  spot.  The  hunters,  as 
usual  on  a  surprise,  were  wasting 
time,  and  the  hunted  ones  were  mak- 
ing the  most  of  it. 

"  I  hear  no  more  hounds,"  whis- 
pered Martin  to  Margaret,  and  he  was 
hnnself  again. 

It  was  Margaret's  turn  to  tremble 
and  despair. 

"  O,  why  did  wc  part  with  Gerard  ? 
They  will  kill  my  Gerard,  and  I  not 
near  him." 

"  Nay,  nay  !  the  head  to  catch  him 
is  not  on  their  shoulders.  You  bade 
him  meet  us  at  the  ash-trcc  1  " 

"  And  so  I  did.  Bless  you,  Mar- 
tin, for  thinking  of  that.  To  the 
ash-tree !  " 

"  Ay  !  but  with  less  noise." 

They  were  now  nearly  at  the  edge 
of  the  co])pice,  when  suddenly  they 
heard  whooping  and  hallooing  behind 
them.  The  men  had  satisfied  them- 
selves the  fugitives  were  in  the  cop- 
pice ;  and  were  beating  back. 

"  No  matter,"  whispered  Martin  to 
his  trembling  companion.  "  We  shall 
Iiave  time  to  vnn  clear  and  slip  out 
of  sight  by  hard  running.     Ah  !  " 

He  stopped  suddenly ;  for  just  as 
he  was  going  to  burst  out  of  the  brush- 
wood his  eye  caught  a  figure  keeping 
sentinel.  It  was  Ghysbrecht  Van 
Swieten  seated  on  his  mule  ;  a  bloody 
bandage  was   across    his    nose,    the 


bridge  of  which  was  broken ;  bat 
over  this  his  eyes  peered  keenly,  and 
it  was  plain  by  their  expression  he 
had  heard  the  fugitives  rustle,  and 
was  looking  out  for  them.  Martin 
muttered  a  tenible  oath,  and  cautious- 
ly strung  his  bow,  then  with  equal 
caution  fitted  liis  last  arrow  to  the 
string.  Margaret  put  her  hands  to 
her  face,  but  said  nothing.  She  saw 
this  man  must  die  or  Gerard.  After 
the  first  impulse  she  peered  through 
her  fingers,  her  heart  panting  to  her 
throat. 

The  bow  was  raised,  and  the  dead- 
ly arrow  steadily  drawn  to  its  head, 
when  at  that  moment  an  active  figure 
leaped  on  Ghysbrecht  from  behind,  so 
swiftly,  it  was  like  a  hawk  swooping 
on  a  pigeon.  A  kerchief  went  over 
the  burgomaster;  in  a  turn  of  the 
hand  his  head  was  muffled  in  it  and 
he  was  whirled  from  his  seat  and  fell 
heavily  upon  the  ground,  where  he 
lay  groaning  with  terror ;  and  Gerard 
jumped  down  after  him. 

"  Hist,  Martin  !  Martin  !  " 

Martin  and  Margaret  came  out,  the 
former  open-mouthed,  crying,  "Now 
fly  !  fly  !  while  they  are  all  in  the 
thicket ;  wc  are  saved." 

At  this  crisis,  when  safety  seemed 
at  hand,  as  fate  would  have  it,  Mar- 
garet, who  had  borne  up  so  bravely 
till  now,  began  to  succumb,  partly 
from  loss  of  blood. 

"  0  my  beloved !  fly,"  she  gasped. 
"  Leave  me,  for  I  am  faint." 

"  No  !  no  !  "  cried  Gerard.  "  Death 
together,  or  safety.  Ah  !  the  mule  ! 
mount  her,  you,  and  I  '11  run  by  your 
side." 

In  a  moment  Martin  was  on  Gh3-s- 
brecht's  mule,  and  Gerard  raised  the 
fixinting  girl  in  his  arms  and  placed 
her  on  the  saddle,  and  relieved  Mar- 
tin of  his  bow. 

"  Help  !  treason  !  murder  !  mur- 
der !  "  shrieked  Ghysbrecht,  suddenly 
rising  on  his  hams. 

"  Silence,  cur,"  roared  Gerard,  and 
trod  him  down  again  by  the  throat 
as  men  crush  an  adder. 

"  Now,   have    you  got  her  firm  ? 


70 


THE   CLOISTER  AND   THE   HEARTH. 


Then    fly !   for    our    lives !   for  our 
lives ! " 

But  even  as  the  mule,  urged  sud- 
denly by  Martin's  heel,  scattered  the 
flints  with  his  hind  hoot's  ere  he  got 
into  a  canter,  and  even  as  Gerard 
withdrew  his  foot  from  Ghyshrecht's 
tiiroat  to  run,  Dicrich  Hrowcr  and  his 
five  men,  who  iiad  come  hack  for  <jr- 
ders  and  heard  the  burgomaster's 
cries,  burst  roaring  out  of  the  coppice 
on  them. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Speech  is  the  familiar  vent  of 
human  thoughts  :  but  there  are  emo- 
tions so  simple  and  overpowering, 
that  tliey  rush  out  not  in  words,  but 
in  elo(juent  sounds.  At  such  mo- 
ments man  seems  to  lose  his  charac- 
teristics, and  to  be  merely  one  of  the 
higher  animals ;  for  tiiese,  when 
greatly  agitated,  ejaculate,  though 
they  cannot  speak. 

There  was  something  terrible  and 
tndy  animal  both  in  the  roar  of  tri- 
umph with  which  the  jmrsuers  burst 
out  (>?  tlic  thicket  on  our  fugitives, 
and  the  sharji  cry  of  terror  with  wliich 
these  latter  darted  away.  The  pursu- 
ers' hands  clutched  the  empty  air 
scarce  two  feet  behind  them,  as  they 
fled  for  life.  Confused  for  a  moment, 
like  lions  that  miss  their  spring.  Die- 
rich  and  his  men  let  Gerard  and  the 
mule  j)Ut  ten  yards  l)etween  them. 
Then  they  flew  after  with  uplifted 
weapons.  They  were  sure  of  catch- 
ing them ;  for  this  was  not  the  first 
time  the  parties  had  measured  speed. 
In  the  open  ground  they  had  gained 
visibly  on  the  three  this  morning,  and 
now,  at  last,  it  was  a  fair  race  again, 
to  be  settled  by  speed  alone.  A  hun- 
dred yards  were  covered  in  no  time ; 
yet  still  there  remained  these  ten 
j^ards  between  the  pursuers  and  the 
pursued. 

This  increase  of  speed  since  the 
morning  puzzled  Dierich  Brower. 
The  reason  was  this.  "When  three 
run  in  company,  the  pace  is  that  of 


the  slowest  of  the  three.  From  P© 
ter's  house  to  the  edge  of  the  forest 
Gerard  ran  Margaret's  j)ace ;  but  now 
he  ran  his  own ;  for  the  mule  was 
fleet,  and  could  have  left  them  all  far 
behind.  Moreover,  youth  and  chaste 
living  began  to  tell.  Daylight  grew 
imperceptibly  between  the  hunted 
ones  and  the  hunters.  Then  Dieri<h 
made  a  desperate  eftbrt,  and  gained 
two  yards,  but  in  a  few  seconds  Ge- 
rard had  stolen  them  (luietly  back. 
The  j)ursuers  began  to  curse. 

Martin  heard,  uiul  his  face  lighted 
up.  "  Courage,  Gerard !  courage, 
brave  lad !    they  are  straggling." 

It  was  so.  Dierich  was  now  headed 
by  one  of  his  men,  and  another 
dropped  into  the  rear  altogether. 

They  came  to  a  rising  ground,  not 
sharp,  but  long;  and  here  youth  and 
grit  and  sober  living  told  more  than 
evi-r. 

Ere  he  reached  the  top,  Dierich's 
forty  years  weighed  him  down  like 
forty  bullets.  "Our  cake  is  dough," 
he  gasj)ed.  "Take  him  dead,  if  you 
can't  alive  "  ;  and  he  left  running,  and 
followed  at  a  foot's  jiace.  iJorian 
Kctcl  tailed  olf  next;  and  then  an- 
other, and  so,  one  liy  one,  Cierard  ran 
them  all  to  a  stand-still,  excei)t  one 
who  kept  on,  stanch  as  a  bloodhound, 
though  losing  ground  every  minute. 
His  name,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  was 
Eric  Wouverman.  Followed  l)y  him, 
they  came  to  a  rise  in  the  wood, 
shorter,  but  much  steeper  than  the 
last. 

"  Hand  on  mane !  "  cried  Martin. 

Gerard  obeyed,  and  the  mule  helped 
him  up  the  hill  faster  than  he  was 
running  before. 

At  the  sight  of  this  manoeuvre,  Die- 
rich's  man  lost  heart,  and,  being  now 
fully  eighty  yards  behind  Gerard,  and 
rather  more  than  that  in  advance  of 
his  nearest  comrade,  he  pulled  uj) 
short,  and,  in  obedience  to  Dierich  s 
order,  took  down  his  cross-bow,  lev- 
elled it  deliberately,  and,  just  as  the 
trio  were  sinking  out  of  sight  over  the 
crest  of  the  hill,  sent  the  bolt  whiz- 
zing among  them. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


Yl 


There  wns  a  cry  of  dismay ;  and 
next  moment,  as  if  a  tlmnderbolt  had 
fallen  on  them,  they  were  all  lying  on 
the  ground,  mule  and  all. 


CHAPTER  XXn. 

The  effect  was  so  sudden  and  magi- 
cal that  the  shooter  himself  was  stu- 
pefied for  an  instant.  Then  he  hailed 
his  companions  to  join  him  in  effect- 
ing the  capture,  and  himself  set  off  up 
the  hill ;  but,  ere  he  had  got  half-way, 
up  rose  the  figure  of  Martin  Witten- 
haagen  with  a  bent  bow  in  his  hand. 
Eric  Wouvcrman  no  sooner  saw  him 
in  this  attitude  than  he  darted  behind 
a  tree,  and  made  himself  as  small 
as  possible.  Martin's  skill  with  that 
weapon  was  well  known,  and  the  slain 
dog  was  a  keen  reminder  of  it. 

Wouverman  peered  round  the  bark 
cautiously ;  there  was  the  aiTow's 
point  still  aimed  at  him.  He  saw  it 
shine.  He  dared  not  move  from  liis 
shelter. 

When  he  had  been  at  peep-bo  some 
minutes,  his  companions  came  up  in 
great  force. 

Then,  with  a  scornful  laugh,  Mar- 
tin vanished,  and  presently  was  heard 
to  ride  off  on  the  mule. 

All  the  men  ran  up  together.  The 
high  ground  commanded  a  view  of  a 
narrow  but  almost  interminable  glade. 

The}^  saw  Gerard  and  Margaret 
running  along  at  a  prodigious  dis- 
tance ;  they  looked  like  gnats ;  and 
Martin  galloping  after  them  ventre  a 
terre. 

The  hunters  were  outwitted  as  well 
as  outrun.  A  few  words  will  explain 
Martin's  conduct.  We  arrive  at 
causes  by  noting  coincidences  ;  yet, 
now  and  then,  coincidences  are  deceit- 
ful. As  we  have  all  seen  a  hare  tumble 
over  a  brier  just  as  the  gun  went  off, 
and  so  raise  expectations,  then  dash 
them  to  earth  by  scudding  away  un- 
touched, so  the  burgomaster's  mule 
put  lier  foot  in  a  rabbit-hole  at  or 
about    the    time   the  cross-bow   bolt 


whizzed  innocuous  over  hei  head ;  she 
fell  and  threw  both  her  riders.  Ge- 
rard caught  Margaret,  but  was  carried 
do^vn  by  her  weight  and  impetus ; 
and,  behold,  the  soil  was  strewed  with 
dramatis  personcv. 

The  docile  mule  was  up  again  di- 
rectly, and  stood  trembling.  Martin 
was  next,  and,  looking  round,  saw 
there  was  but  one  in  pursuit ;  on  this 
he  made  the  young  lovers  fly  on  foot, 
while  he  checked  the  enemy  as  I  have 
recorded. 

He  now  galloped  after  his  compan- 
ions, and  when,  after  a  long  race,  he 
caught  them,  he  instantly  put  Gerard 
and  Margaret  on  the  mule,  and  ran  by 
their  side  till  his  breath  foiled,  then 
took  his  turn  to  ride;  and  so  in  rota- 
tion. Thus  the  runner  was  always 
fresh,  and,  long  ere  they  relaxed  their 
speed,  all  sound  and  trace  of  them  was 
hopelessly  lost  to  Dierichand  his  men. 
Tiiese  latter  went  crestfallen  back  to 
look  after  their  chief  and  their  winged 
bloodhound. 


CHAPTER  XXm. 

Life  and  liberty,  while  safe,  are 
little  thought  of ;  for  why?  they  are 
matters  of  course.  Endangei-ed,  they 
are  rated  at  their  real  value.  In  this, 
too,  they  are  like  sunshine,  whose 
beauty  men  notice  not  at  noon  when 
it  is  greatest,  but  towards  evening 
when  it  lies  in  flakes  of  topaz  imder 
shady  elms.  Yet  it  is  feebler  then  ; 
but  gloom  lies  beside  it,  and  contrast 
reveals  its  fire.  Thus  Gerard  and 
Margaret,  though  they  started  at  ev- 
ery leaf  that  rustled  louder  than  its 
fellows,  glowed  all  over  ^vith  joy  and 
thankfulness  as  they  glided  among  the 
friendly  trees  in  safety  and  deep  tran- 
quil silence,  baying  dogs  and  brutal 
voices  yet  ringing  in  their  minds' 
ears. 

But  presently  Gerard  found  stains 
of  blood  on  Margaret's  ankles. 

"  Martin  !  Martin  !  help  !  they 
have  wounded  her  ;  the  cross-bow  !  " 

"  No,  no  !  "  said  Mai-gai-et,  smiling 


72 


THE  CLOISFER   AND   TlIK   III.AIMH. 


to  rca.sstiru  liiiii.  "  I  'in  not  wound- 
cil,  nor  hurt  at  nil." 

"  But  what  is  it,  then,  in  Heaven's 
name  ^  "  crictl  Gerard,  in  jjreat  ugitji- 
tion. 

"  Scold  me  not  then  !  "  and  Mar- 
ijarct  hUished. 

"  Did  I  ever  srol<l  von  1  " 

"No,  <Ienr  (Jerard.  Well,  tlien, 
Martin  said  it  wiut  hlood  those  eniel 
do;,'s  followeil ;  stt  I  thoiijjht  if  I 
could  hut  have  a  little  IiIojmI  on  my 
sh(M>n  the  do^'s  wouhl  follow  me  in- 
stead, and  let  my  (iernrd  wend  free. 
So  I  seratcheil  my  arm  with  Martin's 
knife,  —  for;,'ive  me!  WIiom-  ilse 
could  I  take  f  Yours,  (Jerard  '.  Ah, 
no.  You  for;;ive  me  ?  "  said  she,  1k'- 
8efchin;;ly,  and  lovingly,  and  fawii- 
in;:ly,  nil  in  one. 

"  Let  me  see  this  Bcrntch  first," 
said  (ierard,  ehokin};  with  emotion. 
"  'i'here,  I  thou;;ht  so.  A  scratch  ? 
I  call  it  a  cut,  —  a<lcc|),  terrihie,  cruel 
cut." 

(Jernrd  shiidilered  at  si;;ht  of  it. 

"  She  mi;:ht  have  done  it  with  her 
iMidkin,"  s.iifl  the  soldier.  "  Milk- 
.''oii !  that  sickens  at  siplit  of  a  scratch 
and  a  little  Mood." 

"  No.  no.  1  could  look  on  a  sea 
of  Mood  :  hut  not  on  hers.  O  Mar- 
piret  !  how  could  you  he  so  cruel  '.  " 

Marfjaret  smili-d  with  love  inetTa- 
blc.  "  Fm)lish  (Jerard,'  nmmnired 
she,  "  to  make  so  much  of  nothinp." 
And  she  tlun;^  the  ;,'nilty  arm  round 
his  neck.  "  As  if  1  would  not  pive 
all  the  hl(K)d  in  my  heart  tor  you,  let 
alone  a  few  drojis  from  my  arm." 
And  with  this,  under  the  sense  of  his 
recent  dan;;er,  she  wept  on  his  neck  for 
pity  and  love  ;  and  he  wept  witli  her. 

"And  I  must  part  from  her,"  he 
sobbed,  —  "  we  twf>  that  love  so  dear, 
—  one  must  be  in  Holland,  one  in  It- 
aly.    Ah  mo  !  ah  me  !  ah  me  !  " 

At  this  Mar;:aret  wept  afresh,  but 
jiatiently  and  silently.  Instinct  is 
never  ofr  its  j^uard,  and  with  her  un- 
seltishness  was  an  instinct.  To  utter 
her  present  thoui^hts  would  he  to  add 
to  Cierard's  miser)'  at  parting,  so  she 
wept  in  silence. 


Suddeidy  they  <'mir;.'i-d  uj  on  ■ 
lx.'aten  |iath,  and  Martin  >loiiped. 

"  This  is  the  bridle  roati  I  spoke 
of,"  said  he,  han;;iiig  his  head,  "  and 
there  away  lies  the  hostelry." 

Mar;:arei  ami  Gerard  ca>t  a  warvd 
liMik  at  one  another. 

"Come  a  step  with  me,  Martin," 
whisjK^red  Gerard.  When  he  had 
drawn  him  aside,  he  saiil  to  him,  in  a 
broken  voice  :  "  (Jood  Martin,  wat<h 
over  her  for  mc  !  She  is  my  wife  ; 
yet  I  leave  her.  See,  Martin  !  here 
IS  j;old,  —  it  was  for  my  journey;  it 
is  no  use  my  asking'  her  to  take  it ; 
she  would  not !  but  you  wdl  for  her, 
—  will  you  not  '  ()  Heaven!  and  is 
this  all  I  can  do  for  her  '.  Money  ? 
But  jHiverty  is  a  curse.  You  will 
not  let  her  want  for  anything;,  dear 
Martin  1  Tlie  bur;.'omaster's  silver 
is  enough  for  me." 

"Thou  art  a  pxMl  lad,  Gerard. 
Neither  wan'  nor  liarm  shidl  come  to 
her.  I  care  more  tor  her  little  finger 
than  for  all  the  world,  and,  were  she 
naught  to  me,  even  for  thy  sake 
wouhl  I  lie  a  father  to  her.  (Jo  with 
n  .stout  heart,  and  (Jod  be  with  theo 
going  and  coming."  And  the  rough 
soldier  wrung  (Jeranls  hand,  and 
turned  his  head  away  with  unwonted 
feeling. 

At'ter  a  moment's  silence  he  was 
for  going  bark  to  Margaret ;  but  Ge- 
rard stopped  him.  "  No,  good  Mar- 
tin :  prithee  stay  here  lieJiiml  the 
thicket,  and  turn  your  brad  away  from 
us,  while  I —     (J  Marl  in  !   Martin  !  " 

By  this  means  ( Jerard  escajKrd  a 
witness  of  his  anguish  at  leaving  her 
be  loved,  and  Martin  escaped  a  pit- 
eous sight.  He  flid  not  see  the  jKJOr 
young  things  kneel  and  n-new  before 
Heaven  those  holy  vows  cruel  men 
had  interrupted.  He  did  not  sec 
them  cling  together  like  one,  and  then 
try  to  part,  and  fail,  and  return  to 
one  another,  and  cling  again  like 
flnjwning,  desjj.iiring  creatures.  But 
be  heard  Gerard  sob,  and  sob,  and 
Margaret  moan. 

At  last  there  was  a  hoarse  cry,  and 
feet  pattered  on  the  hard  road. 


THE   CLOISTER  AND   THE  HEARTH. 


73 


He  started  up,  and  there  was  Ge- 
rard running  wildly,  with  both  hands 
clasped  above  his  head  in  prayer,  and 
Margaret  tottering  back  towards  him 
with  palms  extended  piteously  as  if 
for  help,  and  ashy  cheek,  and  eyes 
fixed  on  vacancy. 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and 
spoke  words  of  comfort  to  her ;  but 
her  mind  could  not  take  them  in  ; 
only  at  the  sound  of  his  voice  she 
luuaned,  and  held  him  tight,  and 
trembled  violently. 

lie  got  her  on  the  mule,  and  put 
his  arm  round  her,  and  so,  support- 
ing her  frame,  which,  from  being 
strung  like  a  bow,  had  now  turned 
all  relaxed  and  powerless,  he  took  her 
slowly  and  sadly  home. 

She  did  not  shed  one  tear  nor  speak 
one  word. 

At  the  edge  of  the  wood  he  took 
her  off  the  mule,  and  bade  her  go 
across  to  her  father's  house.  She  did 
as  she  was  bid. 

Martin  to  Rotterdam.  Sevenber- 
gen  was  too  hot  for  him. 

Gerard,  severed  from  her  he  loved, 
went  like  one  in  a  dream.  He  hired 
a  horse  and  a  guide  at  the  little  hos- 
telry, and  rode  swiftly  towards  the 
German  frontier.  But  all  was  me- 
chanical :  his  senses  felt  blunted ; 
trees  and  houses  and  men  moved  by 
him  like  objects  seen  through  a  veil. 
Hij  companion  spoke  to  him  twice, 
but  he  did  not  answer.  Only  once 
he  cried  out  savagely,  *'  Shall  we  never 
be  out  of  this  hateful  country  1  " 

After  many  hours'  riding  they 
came  to  the  brow  of  a  steep  hill ;  a 
small  brook  ran  at  the  bottom. 

"  Halt  ! "  cried  the  guide,  and 
pointed  across  the  valley.  "  Here  is 
Germanv." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  On  t'other  side  of  the  bourn. 
Xo  need  to  ride  down  the  hill,  I 
trow." 

Gerard  dismounted  without  a  word, 
and  took  the  burgomaster's  purse 
from  his  girdle ;  while  he  opened  it, 


"  You  will  soon  be  out  of  this  hate, 
ful  country,"  said  his  guide,  half  sul- 
kily; "mayhap  the  one  you  are  go- 
ing to  will  like  you  no  better;  any 
way,  though  it  be  a  church  you  have 
robbed,  they  cannot  take  you,  once 
across  that  bourn." 

These  words  at  another  time  would 
have  earned  the  speaker  an  admoni- 
tion or  a  cuiF.  They  fell  on  Gerard 
now  like  idle  air.  He  paid  the  lad 
in  silence,  and  descended  the  hill 
alone.  The  brook  was  silvery  ;  it  ran 
murmuring  over  little  pebbles,  that 
glittered,  varnished  by  the  clear  water ; 
he  sat  down  and  looked  stupidly  at 
them.  Then  he  drank  of  the  brook  ; 
then  he  laved  his  hot  feet  and  hands 
in  it ;  it  was  very  cold ;  it  waked 
bun.  He  rose,  and,  taking  a  run, 
leaped  across  it  into  Germany.  Even 
as  he  touched  the  strange  land,  he 
turned  suddenly  and  looked  back. 
"  Farewell,  ungrateful  country !  "  he 
cried.  "  But  for  her  it  would  cost  me 
naught  to  leave  you  forever,  and  all 
my  kith  and  kin,  and  —  the  mother 
that  bore  me,  and  my  playmates,  and 
my  little  native  town.  Farewell,  fa- 
therland,—  welcome  the  wide  world  ! 
omne  so — lum  for — ti  p — p — at — ri 
— a."  And  with  these  brave  words 
in  his  mouth  he  drooped  suddenly, 
with  arms  and  legs  all  weak,  and 
sat  down  and  sobbed  bitterly  upon 
the  foreign  soil. 

When  the  young  exile  had  sat 
awhile  bowed  down,  he  rose  and 
dashed  the  tears  from  his  eyes  like  a 
man  ;  and,  not  casting  a  single  glance 
more  behind  him  to  weaken  his  heart, 
stepped  out  into  the  wide  world. 

His  love  and  heavy  sorrow  left  no 
room  in  him  for  vulgar  misgivings. 
Compared  with  rending  himself  from 
Margaret,  it  seemed  a  small  thing 
to  go  on  foot  to  Italy  in  that  rude 
age. 

All  nations  meet  in  a  convent ;  so, 
thanks  to  his  good  friends  the  monks, 
and  his  own  thirst  of  knowledge,  he 
could  speak  most  of  the  Imguages 
needed  on  that  long  road.     He  said  to 


71 


TIIK   CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEAHTH. 


liimsolf,  "I  will   soon  lie  at  Rome; 
llic  soomr  the  Utter  now." 

After  wiilkiii;;  11  i:<»>*\  Icajriie,  he 
raine  to  ii  plaie  where  four  ways  nu-t. 
IJeiii;:  cDuntrv  roiwl.s  and  serjH'iitine, 
they  ha<l  |iii/.zU-il  many  an  inexjK'- 
i-ieiui'<l  neij^hl>or  jia.ssin;;  from  vina;;e 
to  vilhii,'f.  (ierartl  took  out  a  little 
dial  IVter  had  f^vcn  liim,  and  set  it  in 
the  autumn  .-un,  and  hy  this  compass 
stt-^red  unhesitatinL'ly  for  Home  ;  iu- 
exiK-rierued  as  a  yuun;;  swallow  fly- 
ing south,  hut,  unlike  the  swallow, 
waniieriu''  south  alone. 


CIIAPTKK    XXIV. 

Not  fjiron  this  road  he  eamc  upon 
a  little  >,'roup.  Two  men  in  solier 
suits  stfHKl  leanin^;  lazily  on  each  side 
i.f  a  horse,  talking;  to  one  another. 
The  rider,  in  a  silk  douhlet  and  hrii;ht 
^,'re«-n  jerkin  and  hose,  Ixith  f>f  En;;- 
li>h  c  loth,  ;;lo.ssy  as  a  mole,  lay  (lat 
on  Ins  stomach  in  the  afternoon  sun, 
anil  looked  like  an  enonnous  lizard. 
His  velvet  eloak  (flaming;  yellow)  was 
e.irefidly  spri'ad  over  the  horse's  loins. 
"  Is  au;.'ht  amiss  '.  "  impiired  Gerard. 

"  Not  that  I  wot  of,"  rej)lied  one 
of  the  servants. 

"  Hut  your  master,  he  lies  like  a 
corjise.  Arc  ye  not  ashamed  to  let 
him  grovel  on  the  t:round  ?  " 

"  tio  to,  the  hare  j,'round  is  the  best 
rure  tor  his  di.sorder.  If  you  pet  so- 
Iter  in  hed  it  >;ives  you  a  headache ; 
hut  you  leap  up  from  the  hanl  t:ronnd 
like  a  lark  in  sprinp  ;  eh,  L'Irie  '.  " 

"  He  sj)caks  sooth,  young  man," 
Bail!  riric,  warmly. 

"  What,  is  the  (gentleman  drunk  ?  " 

The  servants  burst  into  a  hoarse 
laujjh  at  the  simplicity  of  Gerard's 
question.  But  suddenly  Ulric  stopped, 
and,  eyin<r  him  all  over,  said  very 
pravciv,  "  Who  are  you,  and  where 
born,  that  know  not  the  count  is  very 
drunk  at  this  hour  ?  "  and  Gerard 
fcund  hini.self  a  suspected  character. 

••  1  am  a  stranger,'  said  he,  "  but  a 
true  m:in,  and  one  that  loves  knowl- 


edge ;  therefore  ask  I  questions,  and 
not  for  love  of  pryinp." 

"  If  you  he  a  true  man,"  saiil  Ulrie, 
shrewdly,  "  then  pive  us  trinkpeld  for 
the  knowledge  we  have  piven  you." 

(Jerard  looke<l  blank;  but,  puttinp: 
a  poo<i  lace  on  it,  saiil  :  "  T'rinkpeld 
you  shall  have,  such  as  my  lean  purse 
can  spare,  an'  if  you  will  tell  me  why 
ye  have  ta'en  his  cloak  from  the  man, 
and  laid  it  on  the  U-ast." 

Under  the  inspiring  influence  of 
eominp  trinkpeld,  two  solutions  were 
instantly  ofVered  (ieranl  at  once  ;  the 
one  wits,  that  should  the  count  c«)mo 
to  himsilf  (which,  U-inp  a  .sea.soned 
toper,  he  was  apt  to  do  all  in  a  min- 
ute), and  tind  his  horse  stamiinp 
sweating  in  the  cold  while  a  cloak 
lay  idle  at  hand,  he  would  fall  to 
cursing,  and  peradventurc  to  laying 
on  ;  the  other,  mon'  pn-tentious,  was, 
that  a  horse  is  a  poor  milksop,  which, 
drinking  nothing  but  water,  lias  to  Ikj 
eoeken'(l  up  and  warmed  outside  ;  but 
a  master,  being  a  creature  ever  filled 
with  good  lHx;r,  has  a  store  of  inward 
heat  that  wanns  him  to  the  skin,  and 
renders  a  cloak  a  mere  shred  of  idle 
vanity. 

Kaeh  of  the  speakers  fell  in  love 
with  his  theory,  and,  to  tell  the  truth, 
both  had  taken  a  hair  or  two  of  the 
dog  that  had  bitten  their  master  to 
the  brain  ;  so  their  voices  presently 
ro.sc  so  high  that  the  grirn  sot  began 
to  growl  insteail  of  snoring  ;  in  their 
heat  they  did  not  notice  this. 

Ere  long  the  argument  t<K)k  a  turn 
that  .sooner  or  later  was  pretty  sure 
to  enliven  a  discussion  in  tliat  age. 
Hans,  holding  the  briflle  witli  his 
right  hand,  gave  Llric  a  sound  cuflf 
with  his  left ;  Ulric  retunied  it  with 
interest,  his  right  hand  being  free, 
and  at  it  they  went  ding-dong  over 
the  horse's  mane,  pommelling  one  an- 
other, and  jagging  the  poor  beast  till 
he  ran  backward  and  trod  with  iron 
heel  upon  a  promontory  of  the  <.'reen 
lord  ;  he,  like  the  toad  stung  by  Itliu- 
riel's  spear,  started  np  howling,  with 
one  hand  clapped  to  the  smart  and 
the  other  tugging  at  his  hiit.     The 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


75 


servants,  amazed  with  terror,  let  the 
horse  go  ;  he  galloped  oft'  whinnving, 
the  men  in  pursuit  of  him  crying  out 
with  fear,  and  the  green  noble  after 
them,  volleying  curses,  his  naked 
sword  in  his  hand,  and  his  body  re- 
hounding  from  hedge  to  hedge  in  his 
headlong  but  zigzag  career  down  the 
narrow  lane. 

"  In  wliich  hurtling "  Gerard 
turned  his  hack  on  them  all,  and  went 
calmly  south,  glad  to  have  saved  the 
four  tin  farthings  he  had  got  ready 
for  trinkgeld,  but  far  too  heavy-heart- 
ed even  to  smile  at  their  drunken  ex- 
travagance. 

The  sun  was  nearly  setting,  and 
Gerard,  who  had  now  for  sonic  time 
been  hoping  in  vain  to  find  an  inn  by 
the  way,  was  very  ill  at  ease.  To 
make  matters  worse,  black  clouds 
gathered  over  the  sky. 

Gerard  quickened  his  pace  almost 
to  a  run. 

It  was  in  vain.  Down  came  the 
rain  in  torrents,  drenched  the  bewil- 
dered traveller,  and  seemed  to  extin- 
guish the  very  sun ;  for  his  rays, 
already  fading,  could  not  cope  with 
this  new  assailant.  Gerard  trudged 
on,  dark  and  wet,  and  in  an  unknown 
region.  "  Fool !  to  leave  Margaret," 
said  he. 

Presently  the  darkness  thickened. 

He  was  entering  a  great  wood. 
Huge  branches  shot  across  the  nar- 
row road,  and  the  benighted  stranger 
gi-oped  his  way  in  what  seemed  an 
interminable  and  inky  cave  with  a 
rugged  floor,  on  which  he  stumbled 
and  stumbled  as  he  went. 

On,  and  on,  and  on,  with  shivering 
limbs  and  empty  stomach,  and  faint 
heart,  till  the  wolves  rose  from  their 
lairs  and  bayed  all  round  the  wood. 

His  hair  bristled ;  but  he  gra.sped 
his  cudgel,  and  prepared  to  sell  his 
life  dear. 

There  was  no  wind ;  and  his  ex- 
cited ear  heard  light  feet  jiatter  at 
times  over  the  newly  fallen  leaves, 
and  low  branches  rustle  with  crea- 
tures gliding  swiftly  past  them. 


Presently  in  the  sea  of  ink  there 

was  a  great  fiery  star  close  to  the 
ground.  He  hailed  it  as  he  would  his 
patron  saint.  "  CANDLE  !  a  CAN- 
DLE ! "  he  shouted,  and  tried  to 
run  ;  but  the  dark  and  rugged  way 
soon  stopped  that.  The  light  was 
more  distant  than  he  had  thonght; 
but  at  last,  in  the  very  heart  of  the 
forest,  he  found  a  house  with  lighted 
candles  and  loud  voices  inside  it.  He 
looked  up  to  see  if  there  was  a  sign- 
board. There  was  none.  "  Not  an 
inn,  after  aU,"  said  he,  sadly.  "  No 
matter  ;  what  Christian  would  turn  a 
dog  out  into  this  wood  to-night  ?  " 
and  with  this  he  made  for  the  door 
that  led  to  the  voices.  He  opened  it 
slowly,  and  put  his  head  in  timidly. 
He  drew  it  out  abruptly,  as  if  slapped 
in  the  face,  and  recoiled  into  the  rain 
and  darkness. 

He  had  peeped  into  a  large  but  low 
room,  the  middle  of  which  was  filled 
by  a  huge  round  stove  or  clay  oven 
that  reached  to  the  ceiling ;  round 
this  wet  clothes  were  drying,  some  on 
lines,  and  some  more  compendiously 
on  rustics.  These  latter  habiliments, 
impregnated  with  the  wet  of  the  day, 
but  the  dirt  of  a  life,  and  lined  with 
what  another  foot-traveller  in  those 
parts  calls  "  rammish  clowns,"  evolved 
rank  vapors  and  compound  odors  in- 
expressible, in  steaming  clouds. 

In  one  corner  was  a  travelling  fam- 
ily, a  large  one ;  thence  flowed  into 
the  common  stock  the  peculiar  sickly 
smell  of  neglected  brats.  Garlic  filled 
up  the  interstices  of  the  air.  And  all 
this  with  closed  window,  and  intense 
heat  of  the  central  furnace,  and  the 
breath  of  at  least  forty  persons. 

They  had  just  supped. 

Now  Gerard,  like  most  artists,  had 
sensitive  organs,  and  the  potent  efflu- 
via struck  dismay  into  him ;  but  the 
rain  lashed  him  outside,  and  the  light 
and  the  fire  tempted  him  in. 

He  could  not  force  his  way  all  at 
once  through  the  palpable  perfumes ; 
but  he  returned  to  the  light  again  and 
again  like  the  singed  moth.  At  last 
he  discovered  that  the  various  smells 


THE  CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


dill  not  cntirrlr  mix,  no  ficml  l>einp 
tliere  to  stir  tluiii  round.  Odor  of 
fiiniily  pnilominatfil  in  two  conii-rs, 
stcwL-d  rustic  rii;;ncd  siijin  inc  in  thf 
CfUtrc,  and  ;,':irlio  in  tlic  noisy  p-onp 
l>v  the  \viniiow.  He  found  too,  hy 
lia^ty  analysis,  that  of  these  the  pirlie 
discriht'd  the  snnillest  lUTJal  orhit, 
ami  till'  scent  of  rcekin;:  rustic  darted 
farthest,  —  a  flavor  as  if  aiuient  ^'oats, 
or  llio  fathers  of  all  foxes,  hud  l»ivn 
drawn  through  a  river,  and  were  here 
dried  hy  Nrtuichadnezzar. 

So  (ierard  crept  into  a  eonier  close 
to  the  door.  Hut,  thou^rh  the  soliflity 
of  the  main  fetors  is(datcd  them  some- 
what, the  heat  anil  n-ekin^'  vaj)ors 
circulated  and  made  the  walls  drip  ; 
uinl  the  home-nurtureil  novice  found 
sonuthin;;  like  ii  cold  snake  wind 
alnxit  his  Ic'^'s,  and  his  head  turn  to  a 
^'reat  lumji  of  leail ;  and  next  he  felt 
like  chokinj,',  sweetly  slntnlnTJnjj,  and 
dviii;,',  all  in  one. 

He  was  within  nn  ace  of  swooning, 
hut  recovered  to  a  deep  sense  of  <lis- 
;,'ust  and  discouraL,'fment,  and  settled 
to  {;o  hack  to  Holland  at  jK'cpofday; 
this  resolution  tomied,  he  plucked  uji 
a  little  heart,  and,  liein;^  faint  witfi 
huu^'cr,  asked  one  of  tlie  men  of  ^'ar- 
lic  whether  this  was  not  an  inn  after 
all  7 

"  Whence  come  von,  who  know  not 
'  The  Star  of  the  torcst '  ?  "  was  the 
reply. 

"  I  am  n  stranjrer ;  and  in  my 
country  inns  have  aye  a  sij^n." 

"  Droll  coimtry  yours  !  What  need 
of  a  sijrn  to  a  [lulilic-housc,  a  place 
that  every  soul  knows  >  " 

Gerard  was  too  tired  and  faint  for 
the  labor  of  arjrument ;  so  he  turned 
the  conversation,  and  asked  where  he 
could  tind  the  landlord. 

At  this  fresh  disjday  of  ipnorancc 
the  native's  contempt  rose  too  hiph 
for  words  ;  he  pointed  to  a  middle- 
ajLjed  woman  seated  on  the  other  side 
of  the  oven,  and,  tumin^r  to  his  mates, 
let  them  know  what  an  outlandish 
animal  was  in  the  room.  Thereat 
the  loud  voices  stopped  one  by  one, 
as    the  infonnation    penetrated    the 


mass,  and  each  eye  turned  n.s  on  a 
pi\(>t,  following:  (ierard  and  his  every 
movement  silently  and  7.oolo;_ncally. 

The  lainllady  sat  on  a  chair  an 
inch  or  two  hi;:her  than  the  rest,  l»e- 
tween  two  bundles.  From  the  tirst, 
a  hn;;e  henj)  <d"  feathers  and  winj;^, 
she  was  takin;:  the  downy  plimiCM, 
and  pullint:  the  others  from  the  (juills, 
and  so  tilling'  bunille  two,  littering 
the  tloor  ankle-tleep,  ami  contributint; 
to  the  pneral  sto<k  a  stuffy  little 
malaria,  which  nii;,'ht  have  played  a 
distin^'uished  jiart  in  a  sweet  r<K)m, 
but  went  for  iKithinc  lierc.  Gerard 
asked  her  if  he  could  have  something 
to  eat. 

She  op<'ned  her  eyes  in  astonish, 
ment.  "  Supjier  is  over  this  hour  and 
more." 

"  Rut  I  had  none  of  it,  {.'(mmI 
dame." 

"  Is  that  my  fault  ?  Y<ui  were  wcl 
comi"  to  your  share,  for  me." 

"  Hut  I  was  Id-niphted,  and  a  stran- 
>,'er,  and  l>eltttwl  sore  against  my 
will." 

"  What  have  I  to  do  with  tliat  ? 
All  the  w<irld  knows  "  The  Star  of 
the  Forest  "  sups  from  six  till  ei;:ht. 
Come  before  six,  ye  suji  well  ;  come 
laforc  ei;.'ht,  ye  sup  as  pleases  Heav- 
en ;  come  after  ci^ht,  ve  get  a  clean 
l)C(l,  and  a  stirrup-<np  or  a  horn  of 
kine's  milk  at  the  «lawning." 

Gerard  looked  blank.  "  May  I  go 
to  l»c-d  then,  dame  ?  "  said  lie,  sulkily  ; 
"  for  it  is  ill  sitting  \i\i  wet  and  fast- 
ing, and  the  byword  saitli,  '  He  sups 
■who  sleejjs.' " 

"  The  beds  are  not  come  yet,"  re- 
plie<l  the  landlaily  ;  "yon  will  sleep 
when  the  rest  do.  Inns  arc  not  built 
for  one." 

It  was  Gerard's  turn  to  he  aston- 
ished. "  The  beds  were  not  come  ; 
what  in  Heaven's  name  did  she 
mean  ? "  But  he  was  afraid  to  ask, 
for  every  word  he  had  spoken  hither- 
to had  amazed  the  assembly ;  and 
zoiilotrieal  eyes  were  upon  him,  —  ho 
felt  tlum.  lie  leaned  against  the  wall 
and  sighed  audibly. 

At   tliis    fresh    zoiilogical    trait,  a 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


77 


tittei-  went  round  the  watchful  com- 
pany. 

"  So  this  is  Germany,"  thought 
Gerard,  "and  Germany  is  a  great 
country  by  Holland.  Small  nations 
tor  me." 

He  consoled  himself  by  reflecting 
it  was  to  be  his  last,  as  well  as  his 
first  night  in  the  land.  His  revery 
was  interrupted  by  an  elbow  driven 
into  his  ribs.  He  turned  sharp  on 
his  assailant,  who  pointed  across  the 
room.  Gerard  looked,  and  a  woman 
in  the  corner  was  beckoning  him. 
He  went  towards  her  gingerly,  being 
surprised  and  irresolute,  so  that  to  a 
spectator  her  beckoning  finger  seemed 
to  be  pulling  him  across  the  floor  with 
a  gut  line.  When  he  had  got  up  to 
her,  "  Hold  the  child,"  said  she,  in  a 
fine,  hearty  voice,  and  in  a  moment 
she  plumped  the  bairn  into  Gerard's 
arms. 

He  stood  transfixed,  jelly  of  lead 
in  his  hands  and  sudden  horror  in 
his  elongated  countenance. 

At  this  ruefully  expressive  face 
the  lynx-eyed  conclave  laughed  loud 
and  long. 

"  Never  heed  them,"  said  the  wo- 
man, chcerfiilly  :  "  they  know  no 
better,  how  should  they,  bred  an' 
born  in  a  wood "?  "  She  was  rum- 
maging among  her  clothes  with  the 
two  penetrating  hands,  one  of  which 
Gerard  had  set  free.  Presently  she 
fislied  out  a  small  tin  plate  and  a 
dried  pudding,  and,  resuming  her 
cliihl  with  one  arm,  held  them  forth 
to  Gerard  with  the  other,  keeping  a 
thumb  on  the  pudding  to  prevent  it 
from  slipping  ofl". 

"Put  it  in  the  stove,"  said  she; 
"  you  are  too  young  to  lie  down  fast- 
ing." 

Gerard  thanked  her  warmly  ;  but 
on  his  way  to  the  stove  his  eye  fell 
on  the  landlady.  "  May  I,  dame  ?  " 
said  he,  beseechingly. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  she. 

The  question  was  evidently  another 
surprise,  though  less  startling  than  its 
predecessors. 

Coming  to  the  stove,  Gerard  found 


the  oven  door  obstructed  by  "  the 
rammish  clowns."  They  did  not 
budge.  He  hesitated  a  moment ;  the 
landlady  saw,  calmly  put  down  her 
work,  and,  coming  up,  pulled  a  hircine 
man  or  two  hither,  and  pushed  a 
hircine  man  or  two  thither,  with  the 
impassive  countenance  of  a  house- 
wife moving  her  furniture.  "  Turn 
about  is  fair  play,"  she  said.  "  Ye 
have  been  dry  this  ten  minutes  and 
better." 

Her  experienced  eye  was  not  de- 
ceived ;  Gorgonii  had  dOne  stewing, 
and  begun  baking.  Debarred  the 
stove  they  trundled  home  all  but  one, 
who  stood  like  a  table  where  the  land- 
lady had  moved  him  to  like  a  table, 
and  Gerard  baked  his  pudding,  and, 
getting  to  the  stove,  burst  into  stsam. 

The  door  opened,  and  in  flew  a 
bundle  of  straw. 

It  was  hurled  by  a  hind  with  a 
pitchfork  ;  another  and  another  came 
flying  after  it,  till  the  room  was  like  a 
clean  farm-yard.  These  were  then 
dispersed  round  the  stove  in  layers 
like  the  seats  'n\  an  arena,  and  in  a 
moment  the  company  was  all  on  its 
back. 

The  beds  had  cqme. 

Gerard  took  out  his  pudding  and 
foiind  it  delicious.  While  he  was 
relishing  it,  the  woman  who  had 
given  it  him,  and  who  was  now  abed, 
beckoned  him  again.  He  went  to  her 
bundle-side.  "  She  is  waiting  for 
you,"  whispered  the  woman.  Ge- 
rard returned  to  the  stove,  and  gob- 
bled the  rest  of  his  sausage,  casting 
uneasy  glances  at  the  landlady  seat- 
ed silent  as  fate  amid  the  prostrate 
multitude.  The  food  bolted,  he  went 
to  her  and  said,  "  Thank  you  kindly, 
dame,  for  waiting  for  me." 

"  You  are  welcome,"  said  she,  calm- 
ly, making  neither  much  nor  little  of 
the  favor;  and  with  that  began  to 
gather  up  the  feathers ;  but  Gerard 
stopped  her.  "Nay,  that  is  my 
task";  and  he  went  down  on  his 
knees  and  collected  them  with  ardor. 
She  watched  him  demurely. 


r8 


THK  CLOISTER   AND   iUK  HEARTH. 


"  I  wot  not  whence  yc  come,"  miiil 
nhe,  with  ii  nlir  o(  (iiMnmC,  ndti- 
iiHj  nitiru  toriliully,  "  but  yv  have 
Ik-vm  well  hrou;;ht  up  ;  y  have  hud  u 
pxMl  iiiotluT,  I  'II  i;o  bjul." 

Ac  tlio  dcMir  »\iv  roiiimitti-d  thi- 
wliDJo  oinipniiy  to  hi-uvcn  in  ii  for- 
iiiuhi,  ami  diHup|M-aritl.  (iiTurd  to 
hi.H  Htruw  in  the  very  conu-r,  lor  the 
j,'Ui'Sl.H  hiy  round  the  .ta<re«l  kIovc  by 
Beniority,  i.  v.  priority  of  arrival. 

Thit  piiiii->hni(-iit  wa.t  a  InMjn  to 
(iernrd,  tor  tlitii  he  lay  on  the  .<<liore 
of  iMlor  and  iititlin);  hvnt,  instead  of 
in  inid<Hvun. 

He  was  jiHt  dropping  off,  when  lie 
wn.t  awaked  by  a  n<»i'*«',  and  lo  !  there 
waM  the  hind  renjorseles-nly  Himkinf; 
and  waking'  t'uest  after  i;uest  to  u-tk 
him  whether  it  wiw*  he  who  had  picked 
up  tlie  mistress's  feathers. 

"  It  wa.1  I,"  cried  Clcranl. 

"  n,  it  WBM  you  —  was  it'"  iinid 
the  other,  nnd  came  stridin;;  rapidly 
over  the  intennediato  «leep«T».  "  She 
Iwide  me  say,  '  One  pmkI  tuni  deser>i-s 
another,'  ami  so  here  '.t  your  tii^ht- 
cap."  and  he  thrust  a  ^reat  oaken 
nm^  uiidi  r  (ierard's  nose. 

"  I  thank  her  and   bless  her;  here 

.  'W9  —  u>;h  !  "  and  his  jjrntitmle  eml- 

•  l    in    a  wry  face,  for  the  l»eer  was 

muddy,  nnd  had  a  strange  medicinal 

twar»;;  new  to  the  Hollander. 

■■  Trinke  aus !  "  shouteil  the  hind, 
nproaehfully. 

"  Know  is  as  ctHnl  as  a  feast,"  said 
the  youth,  Je.-iuitically. 

The  hind  cast  a  h)ok  of  pity  on 
this  stran^jer  who  left  liiiuor  in  his 
mujj.  "  leh  trinks  eueh,  '  said  he, 
ami  drained  it  to  the  lM>ttom. 

Ami  now  lieranl  turned  his  face  to 
the  wall,  nnd  pulled  up  two  handfuls 
of  the  nice  clean  straw,  and  bore<l  in 
them  with  his  linf^er,  and  so  mailo  a 
scabbard,  and  sheathed  his  nose  in  it. 
And  soon  they  were  all  asleep  :  men, 
maids,  wives,  antl  children,  all  lyinj; 
liiu'^lody-jiigLrlody,  and  siiorin;;  in  a 
dozen  keys,  like  an  orchestra  slowly 
tnniiif; ;  nnd  Gerard's  iKidy  lay  on 
straw  in  Germany,  and  his  spirit  was 
away  to  Scvcnbcrgcn 


When  he  woke  in  the  niomin;;  h$ 
found  nearly  all  his  fellow-piL«vii;;eri 
pjtie.  One  or  two  were  waitunj  fc' 
dinner,  nine  o'diM-k  ;  it  was  now  nix. 
He  paid  the  landlady  her  demand, 
two  pfennini;,  or  alK)ut  an  Kn;:li>.h 
half-jHimy,  ami  he  of  the  pitchfork  de- 
matideil  trink;;e!d,  antl.  ^ettin;;  a  trille 
more  than  u>ual,  and  .Hii-in^  (ierard 
eye  a  founiin;;  niilk|uul  ho  luid  juAt 
brought  fnJHi  the  cow,  hoi<<te«l  it  up 
IomIiIv  to  his  lips.  "  Drink  jmur  fdl, 
man,  '  said  he,  nnd,  on  (iemrd  ofl'er- 
inL'  to  jwy  for  the  delicious  draught, 
tolit  him,  in  bndul  [uitois,  that  a  man 
nii;;ht  swallow  a  .skinful  of  milk,  or 
A  breakfast  of  air,  without  puttin;; 
hand  to  |>ouch.  At  the  door  Gcrurd 
found  his  t*encfiu-trcss  of  lust  ni;;hU 
and  a  hu;^e-i-hested  artisan,  her  JiuS' 
bnn<l. 

(ierard  thanked  her,  and,  in  the 
spirit  of  the  a^e.  otVoa-d  her  a  kreutzcr 
for  her  puiltlinj;. 

Hut  Mie  npulse<l  his  h:inJ  (|tii«»t'v'. 
"  For  what  no  you  take  me  (  '  i>.iitl 
she,  ndorin^  faintly  ;  "  wo  are  travel' 
lers  and  strangent  the  same  us  you, 
nnd  iMtund   to   feel   for  those   in   lika 

Then  fiernrd  blushed  in  his  turn, 
nnd  stammered  excuses. 

The  hulkin;;  husliand  prinned  supe- 
rior to  them  l>oth. 

"  (live  the  vi.xen  a  kiss  for  her  pud- 
din;.',  and  cry  <|uits,"  stkid  he,  with  nq 
air  impartial,  judyedike,  and  Jovc- 
likc. 

Gcmnl  olicvcd  the  lofty  behest,  and 
kis.sed  the  wile's  chei-k.  "A  blessine 
>;o  with  you  l>oth,good  people  !''  said 
lie. 

"An<l  fiod  s|)ced  you,  younp  man  ! " 
replied  the  honest  couple  ;  and  with 
that  they  parted,  and  never  met  again 
in  this  world. 

The  sun  had  just  risen  ;  the  rain- 
dmps  on  the  leaves  j;littercd  like  diu- 
niunds.  The  air  was  fresh  and  bra- 
ciii;r,  and  Geranl  stirred  south  and 
did  not  even  remember  his  resolve  of 
over  night. 

Eight  leagues  he  walked  that  day, 
and    in  the  afternoon  canio  ujwn    a 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


79 


Tiuge  building,  with  an  enormous 
arched  gateway  and  a  postcm  by  its 
side. 

"  A  monastery ! "  cried  he,  joyfully ; 
"  I  go  no  further  lest  I  fare  worse." 
He  applied  at  the  postern,  and,  on 
stating  whence  he  came  and  whither 
bound,  was  instantly  admitted  and 
directed  to  the  guest-chamber,  a  large 
and  lofty  room,  where  travellers  were 
fed  and  lodged  gratis  by  the  charity 
of  the  monastic  orders.  Soon  the 
bell  tinkled  for  vespers,  and  Gerard 
entered  the  church  of  the  convent,  and 
from  his  place  heard  a  service  sung 
so  exquisitely  it  seemed  the  choir  of 
heaven.  But  one  thing  was  wanting, 
Margaret  was  not  there  to  hear  it  with 
him,  and  this  made  him  sigh  bitterly 
in  mid-rapture.  At  supper,  plain  but 
wholesome  and  abundant  food,  and 
good  beer,  brewed  in  the  convent,  were 
set  before  him  and  his  fellows,  and  at 
an  early  hour  they  were  ushered  into 
a  large  dormitory ;  and,  the  number 
being  moderate,  had  each  a  truckle- 
bed,  and  for  covering  sheepskins 
dressed  with  the  fleece  on :  but,  previ- 
ously to  this,  a  monk,  stnick  by  his 
youth  and  beauty,  questioned  him, 
and  soon  drew  out  his  projects  and 
his  heart.  When  he  was  found  to  be 
convent-bred,  and  going  alone  to 
Rome,  he  became  a  personage,  and  in 
the  morning  they  showed  him  over 
tho  convent  and  made  him  stay  and 
dine  in  the  refectorj-.  They  also 
pricked  him  a  route  on  a  slip  of  parch- 
ment, and  the  prior  gave  him  a  silver 
guilden  to  help  him  on  the  road,  and 
advised  him  to  join  the  first  honest 
company  he  should  fall  in  with,  "  and 
not  face  alone  the  manifold  perils  of 
the  way." 

•'  Perils  1 "  said  Gerard  to  himself. 

That  evening  he  came  to  a  small 
straggling  town  where  was  one  inn. 
It  had  no  sign  ;  but,  being  now  better 
versed  in  the  customs  of  the  country-, 
he  detected  it  at  once  by  the  coats  of 
arms  on  its  walls.  These  belonged 
to  the  distinguished  visitors  who  had 
slept  in  it  at  different  epochs  since  its 
foundation,  and  left  these  customary 
4* 


tokens  of  their  patronage.  At  present 
it  looked  more  like  a  mausoleum  than 
a  hotel.  Nothing  moved  nor  sounded 
either  in  it  or  about  it.  Gerard  ham- 
mered on  the  great  oak  door;  no 
answer.  He  halloed  ;  no  reply.  After 
a  while  he  halloed  louder,  and  at  last 
a  little  round  window,  or  rather  hole 
in  the  wall,  opened,  a  man's  head  pro- 
truded cautiously,  like  a  tortoise's 
from  its  shell,  and  eyed  Gerard  stol- 
idly, but  never  uttered  a  syllable. 

"  Is  this  an  inn  ?  "  asked  Gerard, 
with  a  covert  sneer. 

The  head  seemed  to  fall  into  a 
browm  study;  eventually  it  nodded, 
but  lazily. 

"  Can  I  have  entertainment  hero  1 " 

Again  the  head  pondered  and  mded 
by  nodding,  but  sullenly,  and  seemed 
a  skull  overburdened  with  catch-penny 
interrogatories. 

"  How  am  I  to  get  ^-ithin,  an 't 
please  you  1 " 

At  this  the  head  popped  in,  as  if 
the  last  question  had  shot  it ;  and  a 
hand  popped  out,  pointing  round  the 
corner  of  the  building,  and  slammed 
the  window. 

Gerard  followed  the  indication,  and, 
after  some  research,  discovered  that 
the  fortification  had  one  vulnerable 
part,  a  small,  low  door  on  its  flank. 
As  for  the  main  entrance,  that  was 
used  to  keep  out  thieves  and  custom- 
ers, except  once  or  twice  in  a  year, 
when  they  entered  together,  i.  e. 
when  some  duke  or  count  arrived 
in  pomp,  with  his  train  of  gaudy  ruf- 
fians. 

Gerard,  having  penetrated  the  outer 
fort,  soon  found  his  way  to  the  stove 
(as  the  public  room  was  called  from 
the  principal  article  in  it),  and  sat 
down  near  the  oven,  in  which  were 
only  a  few  live  embers  that  diffused  a 
mild  and  grateful  heat. 

After  waiting  patiently  a  long  time, 
he  asked  a  grim  old  fellow  with  a 
long  white  beard  —  who  stalked  sol- 
emnly in,  and  turned  the  hour-glass 
and  then  was  stalking  out  —  when 
supper  would  be.  The  grisly  Gany- 
mede counted  the  guests  on  his  fin- 


80 


THi:    CLOISTER    AND    THK   IIKAHTH. 


pcrs,  —  "  ^Vh^n  I  wo  thrico  as  many 
here  »is  now."     (ifriinl  );ri)aiie<l. 

Till-  ^,'ri>ly  tyrant  riscnti<l  the  ro- 
Ullious  Miiinil.  •■  Inns  arc  not  bnilt 
for  one,"  >aul  ho  ;  "  if  ^vou  can't  wait 
for  the  rfst,  look  out  for  another  lody- 
in^'." 

(fcrard  siKhitl. 

At  this  the  fH'aylK'ard  frowned. 

After  a  while  eonijcinv  triekled 
steadily  in,  'ill  full  ei;;hty  jK-r.sons  of 
various  conditions  were  con;;re;;ated, 
and  to  our  novice  the  place  Ufanie  a 
cli:unlH-r  of  horrors ;  for  here  the 
inutluTs  not  to;,'ether  and  com|iared 
rin^'wornis,  an<l  the  tnen  scra|K<l  the 
mini  olV  their  shtH'S  with  their  Knives, 
and  left  it  on  the  tloor,  and  coniU-d 
tlii'ir  ion;;  hair  out,  innnites  includ- 
c<l,  and  niiulc  their  toilet,  eonsistin;; 
j^-nerally  of  a  dry  ruh.  Water,  how- 
ever, WHS  l>rou;,'ht  in  ewers.  (Jeranl 
j>ounced  on  one  f>f  thex-,  hut  at  si;;ht 
of  the  iii|uid  contents  lost  his  temper 
and  said  to  the  waiter,  "  Wash  you 
tirst  your  water,  and  then  a  nmn  may 
wiish  his  liands  withal." 

"  An  it  likes  you  not,  seek  another 
inn  !  " 

( icrard  said  nothinp,  hut  went  quiet- 
ly, and  courtcou<ly  U-soiiirht  an  ol«l 
truvelUr  to  tell  him  how  far  it  was  to 
the  next  inn. 

"  About  four  Icflfjuw" 

Then  (icrard  appnviatod  the  prim 
pleasantry  of  the  unlH'iidinjr  sire. 

'That  worthy  now  returned  with  an 
armful  of  wood,  and,  counting  the 
travellers,  put  on  a  lo;;  for  every  six, 
l)y  which  act  of  raw  justice  the  hot- 
ter the  room  the  more  heat  he  added. 
Poor  (icrard  noticed  this  little  flaw  in 
tlie  ancient  man's  lopic,  hut  carefully 
sujiprossed  every  symptom  of  intel- 
ligence, lest  his  feet  should  have  to 
carry  his  brains  four  lea^iics  farther 
that"  night. 

When  perspiration  and  suffocation 
were  far  advanced,  they  brought  in  the 
table-cloths ;  but  O,  so  brown,  so 
dirty,  and  so  coarse  !  they  seemed  like 
sacks  that  h;vl  been  worn  out  in  airri- 
cultiire  and  come  down  to  this,  or  like 
shreds  from   the   main-sail   of  Bome 


worn-out  ship.  The  Hollander,  who 
had  never  sivn  such  linen,  even  in 
niphtnnire,  uttered  a  faint  cry. 

"  What  is  to  do  >  "  int|uired  n  trav- 
eller, (icrard  (xtinted  ruefully  to  the 
dirty  sackcloth.  The  other  looked  at 
it  with  lark-lustre  eye,  and  compnv 
bended  nautrht. 

A  lJ\irpundian  soldier,  with  his  ar- 
balest at  his  back,  came  jHV|iinp  over 
(ierard's  shoulder,  an<l,  seeing  what 
wiLs  amiss,  laughed  so  loud  that  tho 
riMMn  rang  again,  then  slap|M'd  him  on 
the  biuk  anil  cried,  "  Courage  le 
(liable  i-st  mort." 

Gerard  stared  ;  he  <louhted  alike 
the  good  tidings  and  their  relevan- 
cy ;  but  the  tones  were  so  hejirty 
anil  the  arbalestrier's  face,  notwith- 
standing a  formidable  l)eard,  was  so 
gay  and  genial,  that  he  smiled,  and 
after  a  pause  saiil  dryly,  "II  a  bien 
fait ;  avec  lean  tt  lingc  du  pays  on 
allait  Ic  noircir  ii  no  sc  rcconnaitrc 
plus." 

"  Tims,  tiens  !  "  cried  the  soldier, 
"vTaqui  paric  le  Kram/ais,  |k'ii  s'en 
faut,"and  lie  seated  himself  by  (icrard, 
and  in  a  moment  was  talking  voliiblv 
of  war.  Women,  and  j>illage,  interlard- 
ing his  discoui-M-  with  curious  oalhs, 
at  which  ( terard  drew  away  from  him 
more  or  less. 

Presently  in  came  the  grisly  ser- 
vant, and  countcil  them  all  on  his  fin- 
gers su|H-n-iliously,  like  Abraham  tell- 
ing sheej),  then  went  out  again  and 
returned  with  a  deal  trencher  and 
deal  sjxHin  to  each. 

Then  there  was  an  interval.  Then 
he  brought  them  a  long  mug  apiece, 
made  of  glass,  and  frowned.  By  and 
by  he  stalked  gloomily  in  with  a 
hunch  of  bre^id  apiece,  and  exit  with 
an  injured  air.  Exj)ectatiiin  thus 
raised,  the  guests  sat  for  nearly  an 
hour  balancing  the  wooden  spoons, 
and  with  their  own  knives  whittling 
the  bread.  Eventually,  when  ho{)C 
was  extinct,  patience  worn  out,  and 
hunger  exhausted,  a  huge  vessel  was 
brought  in  with  pomp,  the  lid  was  re- 
moved, a  cloud  of  steam  rolled  forth, 
and    behold   some    thin    broth  with 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


81 


square  pieces  of  bread  floating.  Tliis, 
though  not  agreeable  to  the  mind, 
served  to  distend  the  body.  Slices  of 
Strasbourg  ham  followed,  and  pieces 
of  salt  fish,  both  so  liighly  salted  that 
Gerard  could  hardly  swallow  a  mouth- 
ful. Then  came  a  kind  of  gruel,  and, 
when  the  repast  had  lasted  an  hour 
and  more,  some  hashed  meat  highly 
peppered  ;  and  the  French  and  Dutch 
being  now  full  to  the  brim  with  the 
above  dainties,  and  the  draughts  of 
beer  the  salt  and  spiced  meats  had 
provoked,  in  came  roasted  kids,  most 
excellent,  and  carp  and  trout  fresh 
from  the  stream.  Gerard  made  an 
effort,  and  looked  angrily  at  them,  but 
"  could  no  more,"  as  the  poets  say. 
The  Burgundian  swore,  by  the  liver 
and  pikestaif  of  the  good  centurion, 
the  natives  had  outwitted  him.  Then 
turning  to  Grerard,  he  said,  "  Courage, 
I'ami,  le  diable  est  mort,"  as  loudly 
as  before,  but  not  witti  the  same  tone 
of  conviction.  The  canny  natives  had 
kept  an  internal  corner  for  contingen- 
cies, and  polished  the  kids'  very  bones. 

The  feast  ended  with  a  dish  of  raw 
animalcula  in  a  wicker  cage.  A 
cheese  had  been  surrounded  with  little 
twigs  and  strings ;  then  a  hole  made 
in  it  and  a  little  sour  wine  poured  in. 
This  speedily  bred  a  small  but  numer- 
ous vermin.  When  the  cheese  Avas  so 
rotten  with  them  that  only  the  twigs 
and  string  kept  it  from  tumbling  to 
pieces  and  walking  off  quadrivious,  it 
came  to  table.  By  a  malicious  caprice 
of  fate,  cage  and  menagerie  were  put 
down  right  under  the  Dutchman's  or- 
gan of  self-torture.  He  recoiled  with 
a  loud  ejaculation,  and  hung  to  the 
bench  by  the  calves  of  his  legs. 

"  What  is  the  matter  1  "  said  a  trav- 
eller, disdainfully.  "  Docs  the  good 
cheese  scare  ye?  Then  put  it  hither, 
in  the  name  of  all  the  saints  !  " 

"  Cheese  !"  cried  Gerard.  "I  see 
none.  These  naitseous  reptiles  have 
made  awav  with  every  bit  of  it." 

"  Well,''  replied  another,  "  it  is 
not  gone  far.  By  eating  of  the  mites 
we  eat  the  cheese  to  boot." 

"Nay,     not     so,"     said     Gerard. 


"  These  reptiles  are  made  like  us,  and 
digest  their  food  and  turn  it  to  foul 
flesh  even  as  we  do  ours  to  sweet ;  as 
well  might  you  think  to  chew  grass 
by  eating  of  grass-fed  beeves,  as  to  eat 
cheese  by  swallowing  these  uncleanly 
insects." 

Gerard  raised  his  voice  in  uttering 
this,  and  the  company  received  the 
paradox  in  dead  silence,  and  with  a 
distrustful  air,  like  any  other  stranger; 
during  which  the  Burgundian,  who 
understood  German  but  imperfectly, 
made  Gerard  Gallicize  the  discussion. 
He  patted  his  interpreter  on  the  back. 
"  C'est  bien,  mon  gars  ;  plus  fin  que 
toi  n'est  pas  bete,"  and  administered 
his  formula  of  encouragement ;  and 
Gerard  edged  away  from  him,  for 
next  to  ugly  sights  and  ill  odors  the 
poor  wretch  disliked  profaneness. 

Meantime,  though  shaken  in  argu- 
ment, the  raw  reptiles  were  duly  eaten 
and  relished  by  the  company,  and 
served  to  provoke  thirst,  a  principal 
aim  of  all  the  solids  in  that  part  of 
Germany.  So  now  the  company 
drank  "  garausses  "  all  round,  and 
their  tongues  were  unloosed,  and  O 
the  Babel !  But  above  the  fierce 
clamor  rose  at  inten-als,  like  some 
hero's  war-cry  in  l)attle,  the  trumpet- 
like voice  of  the  Burgundian  soldier 
shouting  lustily,  "  Courage,  cama- 
rades,  Ic  diable  est  mort !  " 

Entered  grisly  Ganymede,  holding 
in  his  hand  a  wooden  dish  with  circles 
and  semicircles  marked  on  it  in  chalk. 
He  put  it  down  on  the  table  and  stood 
silent,  sad,  and  sombre,  as  Charon  of 
Styx  waiting  for  his  boat-load  of  souls. 
Then  pouches  and  purses  were  rum- 
maged, and  each  threw  a  coin  into  the 
dish.  Gerard  timidh'  observed  that 
he  had  drunk  next  to  no  beer,  and  in- 
quired how  much  less  he  was  to  pay 
than  the  others. 

"What  mean  you?"  said  Gany- 
mede, roughly.  "  Whose  fault  is  it  you 
have  not  drunken  ?  Are  all  to  suffer 
because  one  chooses  to  be  a  milksop  1 
You  will  pay  no  more  than  the  rest 
and  no  less." 

Gerard  was  abashed. 


82 


THK   CLOISTEK   ANI>    THE    IlKAKTH. 


Conrafje,  j>ot;t,  le  (liable  est  mort," 
(i;inviiK'<lo   a   foiii, 


hircoii''lic(l 


,T>ot;t, 
tiio   s 


suldicr,    and    Hung 


"  You  are  as  liatl  as  he  is,"  said  the 
old  man,  pccvislily,  "  yuu  arc  payinj; 
too  niiuh  "  ;  and  the  tyramiiial  old 
Aristidis  returned  him  some  coin  out 
of  tlie  trenclier  with  a  most  reproadi- 
ful  conntcnance.  And  now  the  man 
wliom  (iiranl  liad  confuted  an  inuir 
anil  a  lialf  a;,'o  awoke  from  a  i)rown 
study,  in  whieh  he  had  been  ever  sinec. 
ami  camo  to  him  and  said,  "  Yes;  but 
the  honey  is  none  the  worse  for  pnss- 
in;,'  tlirou;;h  the  Ixes'  bellies." 

Gerard  staretl.  The  answer  had 
been  so  lon^'  on  tlie  road  he  hadn't 
an  iilea  what  it  was  an  answer  to. 
Scein;,'  him  ilumfoundered,  tlie  other 
coneluded  him  eonfuted,  and  with- 
drew ealmed. 

The  i>edrooms  were  up-stjiirs  dun- 
geons with  not  ft  serap  of  furniture 
except  the  bed,  and  a  male  servant 
settled  inexorably  who  should  sleep 
with  whom.  Neither  money  nor 
jirayers  would  get  a  man  a  bed  to 
himself  here  ;  custom  forbade  it  stern- 
ly. You  mi;;ht  as  wi'll  have  asked  to 
iiioMopoli/e  a  see-saw.  They  assifjned 
to  (icrard  a  man  with  a  great  black 
beard.  Ho  was  an  honest  fellow 
enough,  but  not  perfect ;  he  >vould 
ttot  go  to  l)ed,  an<l  would  sit  on  the 
ed;re  of  it,  telling  the  wretched  Gerard 
by  force  and  at  lcn;;th  the  events  of 
the  day,  anil  alternately  laughing  and 
crying  at  the  same  circumstances, 
wiiich  were  not  in  the  smallest  degree 
pathetic  or  humorous,  but  only  dead 
trivial.  At  last  Gerard  put  his  fin- 
gers in  his  ears,  and,  lying  down  in 
his  clothes,  for  the  sheets  were  too 
dirty  for  him  to  undress,  contrived  to 
sleep.  But  in  an  hour  or  two  he 
awoke  cold,  and  found  that  his  drunk- 
en companion  had  got  all  the  feather 
bed;  so  mighty  is  instinct.  They  lay 
between  two  beds :  the  lower  one 
hard,  and  made  of  straw,  the  upper 
soft,  and  filled  with  feathers  light  as 
down.  Gerard  pulled  at  it,  but  the 
experienced  drunkard  held  it  l\ist  me- 
chanically.    Gerard  tried  to  twitch  it 


away  by  Burprise,  but  instinct  was 
too  many  for  him.  On  thi.s  he  got 
out  of  bed,  and,  kneeling  down  on  liis 
l)edfellow's  unguarded  side,  easily 
whipiK'd  the  jui/e  away,  and  rolled 
with  it  under  the  l)ed,  and  there  lay 
on  one  edge  of  it,  and  curled  the  rest 
round  his  shuuldeis.  Ucfore  he  slept, 
he  often  heard  something  grumbling 
and  growling  aliorc  him,  which  was 
some  little  satisfaction.  Thus  Instinct 
was  outwitted,  and  victorious  Reason 
lay  chuckling  on  feathers,  and  not 
quite  choked  with  dust. 

At  jxTj)  of  day  Gerard  rose,  flung 
the  feather  bed  upon  his  snoring  com- 
|)anion,  and  ^vcnt  in  search  of  milk 
and  air. 

A  cheerful  voice  hailed  him  in 
French  :  "  What  ho!  you  are  up  with 
the  sun,  comrade." 

"  He  rises  betimes  that  lies  in  a 
dog's  lair,"  answered  (ierard,  crossly. 

"  Courage,  I'nmi !  le  diable  est 
mort,"  'wa.s  the  instant  reply.  The 
.soldier  then  told  him  his  name  was 
Denys,  and  he  was  passing  from 
Flushing  in  Zealand  to  the  duke's 
Fremh  dominions,  a  change  the  more 
agreeable  to  him  as  he  should  revisit 
his  native  jdace  and  a  host  of  pretty 
girls  who  hail  wept  at  his  departure, 
and  should  hear  French  spoken  again. 
"  And  who  arc  you,  and  whither 
bound  ?  " 

"  >[y  name  is  Gerard,  and  I  am  go- 
ing to  Home,"  said  the  more  reserved 
Hollander,  and  in  a  way  that  invited 
no  further  confidences. 

"  All  the  better ;  we  will  go  to- 
gether as  far  as  Burgimdy." 

"  That  is  not  my  road." 

"  All  roads  take  to  Home." 

"  Ay,  but  the  shortest  road  thither 
is  my  way." 

"  Well,  then,  it  is  I  who  must  go 
out  of  my  way  a  step  for  the  sake  of 
good  company,  for  thy  face  likes  rae, 
and  thou  speakest  French,  or  nearly." 

"  There  go  two  words  to  that  bar- 
gain," said  Gerard,  coldly.  "  I  steer 
by  proverbs  too.  They  do  put  old 
heads  on  young  men's  shoulders. 
'Bon  loup mauvais compagnon,  dit  lo 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


83 


brebis  * ;  and  a  soldier,  they  say,  is 
near  akin  to  a  wolf." 

"  They  lie,"  said  Denys  ;  "  besides, 
if  he  is,  '  les  loups  ne  se  mangent  pas 
entre  eux.' 

"  Let  us  drop  wolves  and  sheep,  be- 
ing men ;  my  meaning  is,  that  a  good 
soldier  never  pillages  —  a  comrade. 
Come,  young  man,  too  much  suspi- 
cion becomes  not  your  years.  They 
who  travel  should  learu  to  read  faces ; 
methinks  you  might  see  Icalty  in  mine 
sith  I  have  seen  it  in  yourn.  Is  it  yon 
fat  purse  at  your  girdle  you  fear 
for?"  (Gerard  turned  pale.)  "Look 
hither ! "  and  he  imdid  his  belt,  and 
poured  out  of  it  a  double  handful  of 
gold  pieces,  then  returned  them  to 
their  hiding-place.  "  There  is  a  host- 
age for  you,"  said  he;  "carry  you 
that,  and  let  us  be  comrades,"  and 
handed  him  his  belt,  gold  and  all. 

Gerard  stared.  "  If  I  am  over-pru- 
dent, you  have  not  enow."  But  he 
flushed  and  looked  pleased  at  the  oth- 
er's trust  in  him. 

"  Bah !  I  can  read  faces ;  and  so 
must  you,  or  you  '11  never  take  your 
four  bones  safe  to  Eome." 

"  Soldier,  you  would  find  me  a  dull 
companion,  for  my  heart  is  very 
heavy,"  said  Gerard,  yielding. 

"  I  '11  cheer  you,  mon  gars." 

"  I  think  yon  would,"  said  Gerard, 
sweetly ;  "  and  sore  need  have  I  of  a 
kindly  voice  in  mine  ear  this  day." 

"  0,  no  soul  is  sad  alongside  me. 
I  lifj;  up  their  poor  little  hearts  with 
my  consigne :  '  Courage,  tout  le 
monde,  le  diable  est  mort.'  Ha, 
ha!" 

"  So  be  it,  then,"  said  Gerard. 
"  But  take  back  your  belt,  for  I  could 
never  trust  by  halves.  We  will  go  to- 
gether as  far  as  Rhine,  and  God  go 
with  us  both ! " 

"  Amen !  "  said  Denys,  and  lifted 
his  cap.     "  En  avant !  " 

The  pair  trudged  manfully  on,  and 
Denys  enlivened  the  weary  way.  He 
chattered  about  battles  and  sieges,  and 
things  which  were  new  to  Gerard; 
and  he  was  one  of  those  who  make  lit- 


tle incidents  wherever  they  go.  Ho 
passed  nobody  without  addressing 
him.  "  They  don't  understand  it, 
but  it  wakes  them  up,"  said  he.  But, 
whenever  they  fell  in  with  a  monk  or 
priest,  he  pulled  a  long  face  and 
sought  the  reverend  father's  blessing, 
and  fearlessly  poured  out  on  him 
floods  of  German  words,  in  such  order 
as  not  to  produce  a  single  German 
sentence.  He  dofled  his  cap  to  every 
woman,  high  or  low,  he  caught  sight 
of,  and  with  eagle  eye  discerned  her 
best  feature  and  complimented  her  on 
it  in  his  native  tongue,  well  adapted 
to  such  nuttters  :  and,  at  each  carrion 
crow  or  magpie,  down  came  his  cross- 
bow, and  he  would  go  a  furlong  off 
the  road  to  circumvent  it ;  and  indeed 
he  did  shoot  one  old  crow  with  lauda- 
ble neatness  and  despatch,  and  carried 
it  to  the  nearest  hen-roost,  and  there 
slipped  in  and  set  it  upon  a  nest. 
"  The  goodwife  will  say,  '  Alack,  here 
is  Beelzebub  a  hatching  of  my  eggs.' " 

"No,  you  forget,  he  is  dead,"  ob- 
jected Gerard. 

"  So  he  is,  so  he  is.  But  she  does  n't 
know  that,  not  having  the  luck  to  be 
acquainted  with  me,  who  carry  the 
good  news  from  city  to  city,  uplifting 
men's  hearts." 

Such  was  Denys  in  time  of  peace. 

Our  travellers  towards  nightfall 
reached  a  village ;  it  was  a  very  small 
one,  but  contained  a  place  of  enter- 
tainment. They  searched  for  it,  and 
found  a  small  house  Avith  barn  and 
stables.  In  the  former  was  the  ever- 
lasting stove,  and  the  clothes  drying 
round  it  on  lines,  and  a  traveller  or 
two  sitting  morose.  Gerard  asked  for 
supper. 

"Supper?  We  have  no  time  to 
cook  for  travellers ;  we  only  provide 
lodging,  good  lodging  for  man  and 
beast.     You  can  have  some  beer." 

"Madman  who,  born  in  Holland, 
sought  other  lands  !  "  snorted  Gerard, 
in  Dutch.     The  landlady  started. 

"What  gibberish  is  that?"  asked 
she,  and  crossed  herself  with  looks  of 
siiperstitioxis  alarm.  "  You  can  buy 
what  you  like  in  the  village,  and  cook 


84 


THE   CLOISTER    AND   TlIK    llKAUTir. 


it  in  our  oven  ;  Imt,  prithee,  mutter  no  I 
eliarms  nor  .Kori-t-rifs  here,  (;o<nl  man  ; 
don't  ye,  now,  it  do  niiike  my  Ihsh 
ereeit  so."  \ 

They  seuiired  the  viliajre  for  AkhI,  | 
and  ended  hy  snppinf^on  roiisted  ejrjr^ 
and  brown  lirt^d. 

At  a  very  early  hour  their  eham- 
iHTinaid  eamc  for  them.  It  was  a 
rosy-<-iieeked  oKl  fellow  with  a  lan- 
teni. 

They  followed  him.  He  led  them 
across  a  dirty  ("arm-yanl,  where  they 
had  much  ado  to  piek  their  stejis,  and 
l>riiui;lit  them  into  a  cow-lionse. 
'I'liere,  on  eaeh  side  of'^Pery  cow, 
was  laid  a  little  clean  fMnnw,  ami  a 
tied  hiiudle  ot'  ditto  for  a  pillow. 
The  old  man  looked  down  on  this 
!iis  work  with  paternal  pri«lc.  Not 
so  Gerard.  What,  do  yon  Ret  Chris- 
tian men  to  lie  amon;^  cattle  ?  " 

*■  Well,  it  ii  hard  upon  the  poor 
Ixa-st-s.  They  have  scarce  room  to 
turn." 

"Oh!  what,  it  is  not  hard  on  us 
then  1  " 

"  Where  is  the  hardship  ?  I  have 
lain  ainon;;  them  all  my  life.  Ix>ok 
at  me  !  I  am  fotirseore,  and  nc\er 
had  a  headache  in  all  my  liorn  days, 

—  all  alon;,' of  lyiii;:  anion;;  the  kye. 
Bless  your  silly  head,  kiiic's  breath  is 
ten  times  sweeter  to  drink  nor  Chris- 
tians'. Yon  try  it  !  "  and  he  slammed 
the  l)edro<jm  door. 

"  Denys,  wlure  are  you  ?  "  whined 
Gerard. 

"  Here,  on  her  other  side." 

"  What  are  you  doinp  ?  " 

"  I  know  not.  But,  as  near  as  I 
can  ;;ucss.  I  think  I  must  be  going  to 
slecj).     What  are  you  at  ?  " 

"  I  am  sayin^r  niy  prayers." 

"  Forget  me  not  in  them  !  " 

"  Is  it  likely  ?  Dcnys,  I  shall  soon 
have  done :  do  not  go  to  sleep,  I 
want  to  talk." 

"  Despatch  then  !  for  I  feel  —  augh 

—  like  —  floating  —  in  the  sky  —  on 
a  warm  cloud." 

"Dcnys!"    , 


"  Augh  !  eh  !  hallo  I  is  it  time  to 
get  tip  : " 

•'  Alack,  no.  There,  I  hurried  my 
ori.s(jns  to  talk  ;  and  look  at  vou,  go- 
ing to  sleep!  Wtr  shall  be  stJir\cd 
before  morning,  having  no  cover- 
lets." 

"  Well,  you  know  what  to  do." 

"Not  I,  in  sooth." 

*'  Cmldle  the  cow." 

"Thank  you." 

"  Burrow  in  the  straw  then.  You 
must  be  very  new  to  the  world  to 
grumble  at  this.  How  would  you 
iK'ar  to  lie  on  the  field  of  battle  on  a 
frosty  night,  as  I  did  t'other  day, 
stark  naked,  with  nothitig  to  kecf>  me 
warm  but  the  carciuss  of  a  fellow  I 
had  Im-cii  and  lielj>ed  kill  ?  " 

"Horrible!  horrible!  Tell  me  all 
about  it !     O,  but  this  is  sweet." 

"  Well,  we  had  a  little  battle  in 
Brabant,  and  won  a  little  victory,  but 
it  cost  us  dear  ;  several  iirbalestriers 
turned  their  toes  up,  and  1  among 
them." 

"  Killed,  Dcnys  ?  come,  now !  " 

"  Dead  as  mutton.  Stuck  full  of 
pike-holes  till  the  blood  ran  out  of 
me,  like  the  good  wine  of  Mi'icon 
from  the  trodden  grapes.  It  is  right 
bountious  in  me  to  jiour  the  tale  in 
minstrel  phrase,  for  —  augh — I  am 
sleepy.    Augh  —  now  where  was  I '.  " 

"  fvcft  dead  on  the  field  of  battle, 
bleeding  like  a  pig ;  that  is  to  say, 
like  grai)es,  or  something  ;  go  on,  pri- 
thee go  on,  'tis  a  sin  to  sleej)  in  iho 
midst  of  a  good  story." 

"  Granted.  Well,  some  of  those 
vagabonds  that  strip  the  dead  soldier 
on  the  field  of  glory  came  and  took 
ever)'  rag  off  mc  ;  they  wrought  me 
no  further  ill,  because  there  was  no 
need." 

"  No  :  yon  were  dead." 

"  C'est  convcnu.  This  mnst  have 
been  at  sundown  ;  and  with  the  night 
came  a  shrewd  frost  that  barkened  the 
blood  on  my  wounds,  and  stopped  all 
the  rivulets  that  were  running  from 
my  heart,  and  about  midnight  I 
awoke  as  from  a  trance." 

"And  thought  you  were  in  heaven?" 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


85 


asked  Gerard,  eagerly,  being  a  youth 
inoculated  with  monkish  tales. 

"  Too  frost-bitten  for  that,  mon 
gars;  besides,  I  heard  the  wounded 
groaning  on  all  sides ;  so  I  knew  I 
was  in  the  old  place.  I  saw  I  could 
not  live  the  night  through  without 
cover.  I  groped  about  shivering  and 
shivering ;  at  last,  one  did  suddenly 
leave  groaning.  '  You  are  sped,' 
said  I,  so  made  up  to  him,  and  true 
enough  he  was  dead,  but  warm,  you 
know.  I  took  my  lord  in  my  arms  ; 
but  was  too  weak  to  carry  him,  so 
rolled  with  him  into  a  ditch  hard  by  ; 
and  there  my  comrades  found  me 
in  the  morning  properly  stung  with 
nettles  and  hugging  a  dead  Fleming 
for  the  bare  life." 

Gerard  shuddered.  "  And  this  is 
war ;  this  is  the  chosen  theme  of 
poets  and  troubadours,  and  Reden 
Ryckers.  Truly  was  it  said  by  the 
men  of  old,  '  Dulcc  bcUum  inex- 
pertis.'  " 

"  Tu  dis  ?  " 

"  I  say,  —  O  what  stout  hearts 
some  men  have  !  " 

"  N  'est-ce  pas,  p'tit  1  So  after 
that  sort  —  thing,  —  this  sort  thing 
is  heaven.  Soft  —  warm  —  good  com- 
pany comradancow  —  cou'age  —  dia- 
ble  —  m  —  ornk  ! " 

And  the  glib  tongue  was  still  for 
some  hours. 

In  the  morning  Gerard  was  awak- 
ened by  a  liquid  hitting  his  eye,  and 
it  was  Denys  employing  the  cow's 
udder  as  a  squirt. 

"O  fie!"  cried  Gerard,  "to  waste 
the  good  milk":  and  he  took  a  horn 
out  of  his  wallet.  "Fill  this!  but 
indeed  I  see  not  what  right  we  have 
to  meddle  with  her  milk  at  all." 

"Make  your  mind  easy!  Last 
night  la  camarade  was  not  nice ;  but 
what  then  ?  true  friendship  dispenses 
with  ceremony.  To-day  we  make  as 
free  with  her." 

"Wliy,  what  did  she  do,  poor 
thing?" 

"Ate  my  pillow." 

"Ha,  ha!" 

"  On  waking  I  had  to  hunt  for  mv 


head,  and  found  it  do^vn  in  the  stable 
gutter.  She  ate  our  pillow  from  us, 
wc  drink  our  pillow  from  her.  A 
votre  sante',  madame;  et  sans  ran- 
cune  "  ;  and  the  dog  drank  her  to  her 
own  health. 

"  The  ancient  was  right,  though," 
said  Gei'ard.  "  Never  have  I  risen 
so  refreshed  since  I  left  my  native 
land.  Henceforth  let  us  shun  great 
towns  and  still  lie  in  a  convent  or  a 
cow-house  ;  for  I  'd  liever  sleep  on 
fresh  straw  than  on  linen  well  washed 
six  months  agone ;  and  the  breath  of 
kine  it  is  sweeter  than  that  of  Chris- 
tians, let  alone  the  garlic  which  men 
and  women  folk  affect,  but  cowen  ab- 
hor from,  and  so  do  I,  St.  Bavon  be 
my  witness  ! " 

The  soldier  eyed  him  from  head  to 
foot :  "  Now,  but  for  that  little  tuft  on 
your  chin,  I  should  take  you  for  a 
girl ;  and,  by  the  finger-nails  of  St. 
Luke,  no  ill-favored  one  neither." 

These  three  towns  proved  types,  and 
repeated  themselves  with  slight  varia- 
tions for  many  a  weary  league  ;  but, 
even  when  he  could  get  neither  a  con- 
vent nor  a  cow-house,  Gerard  learned 
in  time  to  steel  himself  to  the  inevi- 
table, and  to  emulate  I. is  comrade, 
whom  he  looked  on  as  almost  super- 
human for  hardihood  of  body  and 
spirit. 

There  was,  however,  a  balance  to 
all  this  veneration. 

Denys,  like  his  predecessor  Achil- 
les, had  his  weak  part ;  his  very  weak 
part,  thought  Gerard. 

His  foible  was  "woman." 

Whatever  he  was  saying  or  doing, 
he  stopped  short  at  sight  of  a  farthin- 
gale, and  his  whole  soul  became  oc- 
cupied with  that  garment  and  its  in- 
mate till  they  had  disappeared;  and 
sometimes  for  a  good  while  after. 

He  often  put  Gerard  to  the  blush  by 
talking  his  amazing  German  to  such  fe- 
males as  he  caught  standing  or  sitting 
in  doors  or  out,  at  which  they  stared ; 
and,  when  he  met  a  peasant  girl  on 
the  road,  he  took  off  his  cap  to  her, 
and  saluted  her  as  if.she  was  a  queen. 
T)ie  invariable  effect  of  which  was, 


86 


Tin:   CLOISTER   AND   THK   UKARTH. 


that  she  Riulilonly  drew  herself  up 
(piite  stiff,  like  a  soldii-r  on  parade, 
B.ii'1  wore  a  fi>rl»ii|iliii;;  CDUTiti'iiiiiiee. 

'•  They  drive  iiic  to  desjiair,"  says 
Denys.  "  Ls  that  u  just  return  to  a 
civil  hnnnetjide  i  They  are  larjje, 
thi-y  are  fair,  hut  slii|iid  as  swans." 

"  What  hrei'dini'  ean  you  exiK-et 
from  women  that  wear  no  liose,  " 
inquired  (ierard,  "  and  some  of  them 
no  shoon  ?  They  sit-m  to  mo  re- 
jk-rved  on<l  modest,  as  iKromi-s  their 
sex  ;  and  soU-r,  whereas  the  men  an- 
little  U-tterthan  iKer-harn-ls.  Would 
vou  have  them  hra/en  a.s  well  as  liose- 
less  I  " 

"  A  little  nffahility  adorns  even 
iK-autv,"  sighed  Denys. 

"  'I'hen  let  them  alone,  sith  they 
are  not  to  your  taste,"  retorteil  (Ji"- 
rard.  "  What,  is  tlnre  no  swirt  faee 
in  nur;:\indy  that  would  ]iaie  to  see 
you  so  wra]ipid  uj)  in  straufje  wt>- 
nuii  '  " 

"  Half  a  dozen  that  would  crj' 
thiir  eves  <iut." 

"  W'l-ll.  then  !  " 

"  liut  it  ii  u  long  way  to  Burpun- 
<ly." 

"  Ay,  to  the  foot,  luit  not  to  tlu* 
heart.  I  am  tlurr,  sleepinj,'  and 
wakin;:,  and  almnst  iviry  minute  of 
tlie  day." 

"  In  Hurpundy  '  Why,  I  thought 
you  hatl  never  —  " 

•'  In  Burgundy  ?  "  cric<l  Gernrd, 
contemjituously.  "  No,  in  sweet 
SevenlR-rgcn.  Ah  !  wtll-a-day  !  well- 
a  day  !  " 

Many  sueh  dialogues  as  this  pa.ssed 
between  the  pair  on  the  long  and 
weary  road,  and  neither  could  change 
the  otlier. 

One  day  about  noon  they  reached 
a  town  of  some  pretensions,  and  (Ie- 
rard wius  glad,  for  he  wanted  to  buy 
a  i)air  of  shoes ;  his  own  were  quite 
worn  out.  They  soon  found  a  shop 
that  displayed  a  goodly  array,  and 
niaile  up  to  it,  and  wotilil  have  entered 
it,  but  the  shopkeejKr  sat  on  the 
doorstep  taking  a  n:i|).  anil  was  so  fat 
as  to  block  up  the  narrow  doorway  ; 
the  verj-  light  cuuld  hardly  struggle 


[last  his  "  too,  too  solid  flesh,' '  murl) 
e.ss  a  carnal  customer. 

My  fair  readers,  accustomed,  when 
thfv  go  shopping,  to  l>e  met  half-way 
with  no«ls  and  In'cks  and  wreathed 
smiles,  and  waved  into  a  keat,  wliilc 
almost  at  the  same  in.^tant  an  ea;:er 
sluipman  llings  himself  half  acro-s 
the  counter  in  a  seniicirfle  t<i  learn 
their  commands,  ean  l»est  appreciate 
this  inediieval  Teuton,  who  kept  a 
shop  as  a  dog  keeps  a  kcniud,  and 
sat,  at  the  exclusion  of  custom,  snor- 
ing like  a  pig. 

Denys  and  (icrnrd  st»Hxl  and  con- 
templated   this    curiosity ;    cmldem, 
IK^'rmit  me  to  remark,  of  the  lets  and 
lindranees  to  commerce  that  charuc- 
teri/.ed  his  ep<K-h. 
"  .lump  over  hin> !  " 
"  The  diMir  is  too  low." 
"  March  through  hin>  !  " 
"  The  man  is  too  thick." 
"  What    is    the  coil  '.  "  in(|uired  a 
mumbling  voice  from  the  interior, — 
apprentice  with  his  mouth  full. 
"  We  want  to  get  into  your  shop." 
"  What        for,         in        Heaven's 
nunu-  !!]]]" 

"  ShtM)n  ;  lazy-bones  !  " 
The  ire  of  the  apprentice  l)egan  to 
rise  at  such  an  explanation.  "  And 
could  ye  fmd  no  hour  out  of  all  tho 
twelve  to  come  pestering  us  for  shoon, 
but  the  one  little,  little  hour  my  mas- 
ter takes  his  nap,  and  I  sit  down  to 
my  dinner,  when  all  the  rest  of  tho 
world  is  fidl  long  ago  t  " 

Denys  heard,  but  could  not  follow 
the  sen.se.  "  Waste  no  more  time  in 
talking  their  (ierman  giblMjrish,"  sai«l 
he  :  "  take  out  thy  tnife  and  tickle 
his  fat  ribs." 

"  That  will  I  not,"  said  Gerard. 
"  Then  here  goes  ;  I  '11  prong  him 
with  this." 

Gerard  seized  the  mad  fellow's  arm 
in  dismay,  for  he  had  been  long 
enough  in  tlie  country  to  guess  that 
the  whole  town  would  take  part  in 
any  brawl  with  the  native  against  a 
stninger.  But  Denys  twisted  away 
from  him,  and  the  cross-lrow  IkjU  in 
bis  hand  was  actually  on  the  road  to 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


87 


the  sleeper's  ribs,  but  at  that  very 
moment  two  females  crossed  the  road 
towards  liim  ;  he  saw  the  blissful  vis- 
ion, and  instantly  forgot  what  he  was 
about,  and  awaited  the  approach  with 
unreasonable  joy. 

Though  companions  they  were  not 
equals,  except  in  attractiveness  to  a 
Burgundian  cross-bow-man ;  for  one 
W:is  very  tall,  the  other  short,  and,  by 
one  of  those  anomalies  which  socie- 
ty, however  primitive,  speedily  estab- 
lishes, the  long  one  held  up  the  little 
one's  tail.  The  tall  one  wore  a  plain 
linen  coif  on  her  head,  a  little  grogi'am 
cloak  over  her  shoulders,  agraykirtle, 
and  a  short  fartliingale,  or  petticoat, 
of  bright  red  cloth,  and  feet  and  legs 
quite  bare,  though  her  arms  were 
veiled  in  tight  linen  sleeves. 

The  other  a  kirtle  broadly  trimmed 
with  fur,  her  arms  in  double  sleeves, 
whereof  the  inner,  of  yellow  satin, 
clung  to  the  skin  ;  the  outer,  all  be- 
furred,  were  open  at  the  inside  of  the 
«lbo\v,  and  so  the  arm  passed  through 
and  left  them  dangling.  Velvet  head- 
dress, huge  purse  at  girtlle,  gorgeous 
train,  bare  legs.  And  thus  they  came 
on,  the  citizen's  wife  strutting,  and 
the  maid  gliding  after,  holding  her 
mistress's  train  devoutly  in  both 
hands,  and  bending  and  winding  her 
lithe  body  prettily  enough  to  do  it. 
Imagine  (if  not  pressed  for  time)  a 
bantam,  with  a  guinea-hen  stepping 
obsequious  at  its  stately  heel. 

This  pageant  made  straight  for  the 
shoemaker's  shop.  Denys  louted  low ; 
the  worshipful  lady  nodded  gracious- 
ly, but  rapidly,  having  business  on 
hand,  or  rather  on  foot ;  for  in  a  mo- 
ment she  poked"the  point  of  her  little 
shoe  into  the  sleeper,  and  worked  it 
round  in  him  like  a  gimlet,  till  with  a 
long  snarl  he  woke.  The  incarnate 
shutter  rising  and  grumbling  vaguely, 
the  lady  swept  in  and  deigned  him  no 
further  notice.  He  retreated  to  his 
neighbor's  shop,  the  tailor's,  and,  sit- 
ting on  the  step,  protected  it  from 
the  impertinence  of  morning  calls. 
Neighbors  should  be  neighborly. 

Denys   and   Gerard    followed    the 


dignity  into  the  shop,  where  sat  the 
apprentice  at  dinner;  the  maid  stood 
outside  ^vith  her  insteps  crossed,  lean- 
ing against  the  wall,  and  tapping  it 
with  her  nails. 

"  Those,  yonder,"  said  the  dignity, 
briefly,  pointing  with  an  imperious 
little  white  hand  to  some  yellow  shoes 
gilded  at  the  toe.  While  the  appren- 
tice stood  stock-still,  neutralized  by 
his  dinner  and  his  duty,  Denys  sprang 
at  the  shoes,  and  brought  them  to  her ; 
she  smiled,  and,  calmly  seating  her- 
self, proti'uded  her  foot,  shod,  but 
hoseless,  and  scented.  Down  went 
Denys  on  his  knees  and  drew  off  her 
shoe,  and  tried  the  new  ones  on  the 
white  skin,  devoutly.  Finding  she 
had  a  willing  victim,  she  abused  the 
opportunity,  tried  first  one  pair,  then 
another,  then  the  first  again,  and  so 
on,  balancing  and  hesitating  for  about 
half  an  hour,  to  Gerard's  disgust  and 
Denys's  weak  delight.  At  last  she 
was  fitted,  and  handed  two  pair  of 
yellow  and  one  pair  of  red  shoes  out 
to  her  servant.  Then  was  heard  a 
sigh.  It  burst  from  the  owner  of  the 
shop ;  he  had  risen  from  slumber, 
and  was  now  hovering  about,  like  a 
partridge  near  her  brood  in  danger. 
"  There  go  all  my  colored  shoes  !  " 
said  he,  as  they  disappeared  in  the 
girl's  apron. 

The  lady  departed.  Gerard  fitted 
himself  with  a  stout  paii",  asked  the 
price,  paid  it  without  a  word,  and 
gave  his  old  ones  to  a  beggar  in  the 
street,  who  blessed  him  in  the  mai'ket- 
place,  and  threw  them  furiously  down 
a  well  in  the  suburbs.  The  comrades 
left  the  shop,  and  in  it  two  melan- 
choly men,  that  looked,  and  even 
talked,  as  if  they  had  been  robbed 
wholesale. 

"  My  shoon  are  sore  worn,"  snid 
Denys,  grinding  his  teeth  ;  "  but  I  '11 
go  barefoot  till  I  reach  France  ere  I  '11 
leave  my  money  with  such  churls  as 
these." 

The  Dutchman  replied,  calmly, 
"  They  seem  indifferently  well  sewn." 

As  they  drew  near  the  Rhine,  they 
passed  through  forest  after  forest,  and 


88 


TIIK   CI.OISTFH    ANI>   THK   IIKAIMII. 


novr   for  the    first    time   uply   woitls* ; 
bounilifl  in  truvcIliTs'  mouiiu,  Fcateil 
aniuiid  stovfs.     "  Thicvca  !  "   "  bluck 
^.'iui^'s  !  "  "  cutthront-t !  "   etr. 

'I'lii-  MTV  rustics  wvTv  said  tt>  Iiuvr 
a  custom  hi-rt-aliuut/i  of  munliTiiij,' 
tlic  ;niwi»ry  iruvi-llcr  in  tliosc  ^looniv 
>viM>ils,  wli(»Sf  (larlc  and  devious  wind- 
inir*  enuhled  those  who  were  f.tniiliar 
with  them  to  do  di-eds  of  rapine  and 
IdiMMl  undetirted,  or,  if  detected,  easily 
to  haille  pUTMuit. 

( "erUiin  it  wa.s.  thatevery  clown  they 
met  carried,  whether  for  oHenec  or 
difiiue,  a  most  fonnidahle  weajKin  : 
a  ii;,'ht  axe  with  a  short  pike  at  tlie 
head,  and  a  lonj;,  slemler  handle  of 
ash  or  yew,  well  Rcasonctl.  These 
the  natives  could  all  throw  with  sin- 
gular ]irecision,  so  as  to  make  (h<<  i>oint 
strike  an  ohjivt  at  several  yards  dis- 
tance, or  could  slay  a  liulltM-k  at  hanil 
with  a  stroke  of  the  Made.  (Wrard 
lK)ti;jIit  one  and  practised  with  it. 
Dcnys  quietly  filed  and  j:round  his 
liolts  sharp,  whi-.tlinK  the  whilst ;  and, 
when  they  entered  a  i;loomy  wwmI, 
he  woulil  unslin;;  his  cross-lKJW  and 
carrv  it  reaily  for  action  ;  hut  not  so 
much  like  a  tniveller  tearing;  an  at- 
tack as  a  s|H)rtsnian  watchful  not  to 
miss  a  snap-shot. 

One  day,  hein;;  in  a  fon*<t  a  few 
loai;ues  from  Dusseldorf.  as  Gerard 
WiLs  walking  like  one  in  a  dri'am, 
tliiukiii;;  of  Mar;:arct,  and  .scarce  see- 
ing: the  roail  he  tnxl,  his  ci^mpaniun 
laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder,  ami 
strunj;  his  cross-l>ow  with  ;;littcrinjj 
eye.  "  Hush  !  "  said  he,  in  a  low 
whisjxT,  that  surtled  (ierard  more 
th:in  thunder,  (icranl  ;:r.»sped  his 
axe  tii;l»t,  and  sho-ik  a  little;  he 
heanl  a  rustlin;:  in  the  wood  hard  hy, 
and  at  the  same  moment  Denys 
sprani:  into  the  wood,  and  his  cross- 
Itow  went  to  his  shoulder  even  as  he 
jumped.  Twanir !  went  the  metal 
string' ;  and  after  an  instant'.s  susj)ense 
he  n):>rod,  "  Hun  forward,  truard  the 
road  ;   he  is  hit  !  he  is  hit  !  " 

Cierard  darted  fonvard,  and,  as  he 
ran,  a  young  bear  burst  out  of  the 
wood  right  upon  him ;  finding  itself 


intercepted,  it  went  up  on  its  hind 
legs  ^vith  a  itnarl,  ami,  thougli  not  half 
grown,  ojK:ne<l  formiilahU-  jaw«  and 
long  claws.  Gerard,  in  a  fury  of  ex- 
citement and  agitation.  Hung  him»elf 
on  it,  and  ddiveretl  a  tremendous 
Mow  on  its  nose  with  his  axe,  and  the 
creature  staggm-d ;  anolhi-r.  and  it 
lay  grovelling,  with  (ierard  hacking  it. 
"Hallo!  ston!  you  are  mad  to 
s|M)il  the  meat.' 

■'  I  took  it  for  ft  robU-r,"  Boid  Ge- 
rard, punting  '■  I  nu-an  I  had  made 
really  for  a  robl>er,  so  1  could  not  hold 
my  hand." 

""  Ay,    these    chattering    travellers 

I  have  siutVed  your  head  full  of  thieves 

I  and   a.ssassins ;   they   have  not   got  n 

real  live  robl>er  in  ihcir  whole  nation. 

Nay,  I  '11  carrv  tin-  Uast ;   In-ar  thou 

'  my  cross-Uiw. 

'"  We  will  carry  it  by  tnnjs,  then," 
.saiil  (JeranI,  "  for  't  is  a  heavy  load. 
I'lxir  thing,  how  its  WwmI  «lrips!  Why 
did  we  slay  it  ?  " 

"  For  supjier,  and  the  n*ward  the 

baillieof  the  next  town  shall  give  us." 

"  And  for  that  it  mu-t  die,  when  it 

had  but  just   Ingun   to  live  ;  and  jht- 

I  chance  it  hath  a  mother  that  will  miss 

I  it  sore  this  night,  and  loves  it  as  ours 

I  loves  us ;  nion'  than  mine  doi-s  me." 

I      "  What,    know   ycm    not    that   his 

mother  was  caught  in   a  pitfall  last 

I  month,  and  her   skin  is  now  at  the 

tanner's  ?    and   his   father  was  stuck 

I  full  of  cloth-yard  shafts  t'other  day, 

I  and  died  like  Julius  Ca-sar,  with  his 

I  hands    folded    on    his    lH>som    and  a 

i  dca<l  dog  in  each  of  them  ?  " 

I      But  Gerard  would  not  view  it  jest- 

I  inirly.     "  Why,  tiici^"   said  he,  "  wo 

,  have  killed    one    of    God's  creatures, 

I  that  w  as  all  alone  in  the  world,  —  as  I 

i  am  this  day  in  this  strange  land." 

'*  You     young    inilk.sop,"     roared 

Denys,   "  these  things  mu.st   not  be 

looked   at   so,   or   not    another   bow 

woidd   be   drawn    nor  qnaml  fly  in 

forest  nor  battle-field.      Why,  one  of 

voiir  kidney  con.sorting  with  a  troop 

of  pikemen  should  turn  them  to  a  row 

of  milk-pails.     It  is  ended,  to  Rome 

thou    goest    not    alone ;     for  ne\ef 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


89 


wouldst  thoit  reach  the  Alps  in  a 
whole  skin.  I  take  thee  to  Ilemire- 
mont,  my  native  place,  and  there  I 
marry  thee  to  my  young  sister ;  she  is 
blooming  as  a  peach.  Thou  shakest 
thy  head  ?  ah  !  I  forgot ;  thou  lovest 
elsewhere,  and  art  a  one-woman  man, 
a  creature  to  me  scarce  conceivable. 
Well,  then,  I  shall  find  thee  not  a 
wife,  nor  a  leman,  but  a  friend,  some 
honest  Burgundian  who  shall  go  with 
thee  as  far  as  Lyons ;  and  much  I 
doubt  that  honest  fellow  will  be 
myself,  into  whose  liquor  thou  hast 
dropped  sundry  powders  to  make  me 
love  thee ;  for  erst  I  endured  not  doves 
in  doublet  and  hose.  From  Lyons,  I 
say,  I  can  trust  thee  by  ship  to  Italy, 
which,  being  by  all  accounts  the  very 
stronghold  of  milksops,  thou  wilt 
there  be  safe ;  they  will  hear  thy 
ivords,  and  make  thee  their  duke  in 
a  twinkling." 

Gerard  sighed  :  "  In  sooth,  I  love 
not  to  think  of  this  Dusseldorf, 
where  we  are  to  part  company,  good 
friend." 

They  walked  silently,  each  think- 
ing of  the  separation  at  hand  ;  the 
thought  checked  trifling  conversation, 
and  at  these  moments  it  is  a  relief  to 
do  something,  however  insignificant. 
Gerard  asked  Denys  to  lend  him  a 
bolt.  "  I  have  often  shot  with  a  long- 
bow, but  never  with  one  of  these ! " 

"  Draw  thy  knife,  and  cut  this  one 
out  of  the  cub,"  said  Denys,  slyly. 

"  Nay,  nay,  I  want  a  clean  one." 

Denys  gave  him  three  out  of  his 
quiver. 

Gerard  strung  the  bow,  and  levelled 
it  at  a  bough  that  had  fallen  into  the 
road  at  some  distance.  The  power 
of  the  instrument  surprised  him  ;  the 
short  but  thick  steel  bow  jarred  liim 
to  the  very  heel  as  it  went  off,  and 
the  swift  steel  shaft  was  invisible  in 
its  passage :  only  the  dead  leaves, 
with  which  November  had  carpeted 
the  narrow  road,  flew  about  on  the 
other  side  of  the  bough. 

"  Ye  aimed  a  thought  too  high," 
said  Denys. 

"  What  a  deadly  thing  !  no  wonder 


it  is  driving  out  the  long-bow,  ■ —  to 
Martin's  much  discontent." 

"  Ay,  lad,"  said  Denys,  triumphant- 
ly, "  it  gains  ground  every  day,  in 
spite  of  their  laws  and  their  procla- 
mations to  keep  up  the  yewen  bow, 
because,  forsooth,  their  grandsires 
shot  with  it,  knowing  no  better.  You 
sec,  Gerard,  war  is  not  pastime. 
Men  will  shoot  at  their  enemies  with 
the  hittingcst  arm  and  the  killingest, 
not  with  the  longest  and  missingest." 

"  Then  these  new  engines  I  hear  of 
will  put  both  bows  down  ;  for  these, 
with  a  pinch  of  black  dust,  and  a 
leaden  ball,  and  a  child's  finger,  shall 
slay  you  Mars  and  Goliah  and  tho 
Seven  Champions." 

"  Fooh  !  pooh  !  "  said  Denys, 
warmly,  "petrone  nor  harquebuss 
shall  ever  put  down  Sir  Arbalest. 
Why,  we  can  shoot  ten  times  while 
they  are  putting  their  charcoal  and 
their  lead  into  their  leathern  smoke- 
belchers,  and  then  kindling  their 
matches.  All  that  is  too  fumbling 
for  the  field  of  battle ;  there  a  sol- 
dier's weapon  needs  be  aye  ready,  like 
his  heart." 

Gerard  did  not  answer,  for  his  ear 
was  attracted  by  a  sound  behind  them. 
It  was  a  peculiar  sound,  too,  like 
something  heavy,  but  not  hard,  rush- 
ing softly  over  the  dead  leaves.  He 
turned  round  with  some  little  curios- 
ity. A  colossal  creature  was  coming 
down  the  road  at  about  sixty  paces' 
distance. 

He  looked  at  it  in  a  sort  of  calm 
stupor  at  first ;  but  the  next  moment 
he  turned  ashy  pale. 

"  Denys  !  "  he  cried.  "  O  God  ! 
Denys ! " 

Denys  whirled  round. 

It  was  a  bear  as  big  as  a  cart- 
horse. 

It  was  tearing  along  with  its  huge 
head  down,  iiinning  on  a  hot  scent. 

The  very  moment  he  saw  it,  Denys 
said  in  a  sickening  whisner :  — 

"THE   CUB!" 

O  the  concentrated  horror  of 
that  one  word,  whispered  hoarsely, 
with    dilating    eyes !      For    in    that 


90 


THK   CLOISTKU   AND  TIIK    HF.AHTH. 


Fvllahlc  it  nil  Husliod  U[)oii  thi-m  iKitli, 
iiki'  a  siKJilcii  stroke  of  li;^litniii;;  in 
the  (lark, —  till.'  bloody  trail,  the  innr- 
dtnil  luli,  the  mother  ujtoii  them, 
and  it.     DKATH. 

All  this  in  a  moment  of  time. 
The  next  she  saw  them.  IIupc  as 
.she  was,  »\w  ."ieemed  to  douhle  herself 
(it  wiLs  her  Ion;:  hair  hristlint;  with 
ru^'e)  ;  .she  raised  her  head  hi^  lus  a 
hull's,  her  swine-shn[)ed  jaws  ojK'iied 
wide  at  thoni,  her  eve.s  ttinied  to 
liliHid  and  tiame,  and  she  ruslie<l  u]H)n 
them,  seatlerin^  the  leaveii  about  her 
like  a  whirlwind  a.s  she  eame. 

"  .*sh«Jot  !  "  storeamed  Denv.s,  but 
(ienird  stood  shakin^^  from  head  to 
foot,  ii.seless. 

"  Shoot,  mnn  !  ten  thousand  devils, 
slioot  !  tcjo  late  !  Tree  !  tri-e  !  "  and 
he  dro[)|M.-d  the  euh,  pushed  fierard 
aiToss  the  road,  nnd  tlew  to  the  Hrst 
tree  and  elind>ed  it;  (ierard  the  same 
on  his  side  ;  and,  as  they  tied,  lioth 
men  uttered  inhuman  howls,  like  .sav- 
a;;e  ereatures  j^ra/ed  l»y  death. 

Wich  all  their  sj»«.-ed  one  or 
other  would  have  l)een  torn  to  frag- 
ments at  the  foot  of  his  tree,  but 
the  U-ar  stopjad  a  moment  at  the 
cub 

Without  taking  her  blmidshot  eyes 
oft"  those  she  was  hunting',  she  smelt 
it  all  round,  ai\d  found,  how  her 
Creator  only  knows,  that  it  wius  dead, 
quite  dead.  She  gave  a  yell  such  as 
neither  of  the  hunted  ones  had  ever 
heard,  nor  dreameii  to  \)C  in  nature, 
anil  flew  after  Denys.  She  reared 
and  stnuk  at  him  as  he  elimbed.  lie 
was  just  out  of  reaeh. 

Instantly  she  seized  the  tree,  and 
with  her  huge  teeth  tore  a  great  pieee 
out  of  it  with  a  crash.  Then  she 
roaretl  again,  dug  her  claws  deep  into 
the  bark,  and  liegan  to  mount  it 
slowly,  but  as  surely  as  a  monkey. 

Denys's  evil  star  liatl  led  him  to  a 
dead  tree,  a  mere  shaft,  and  of  no 
very  great  height-  He  elimbed  faster 
than  his  pursuer,  and  was  soon  at  the 
top.  He  looked  this  way  and  that 
for  some  bough  of  another  tree  to 
ipring  to.     There  was  none  ;  and,  if 


he  jumjicd  down,  he  knew  the  Ytetf 
woulil  Ik'  uiMm  hint  ere  he  eonld  re- 
er»\er  the  tall,  and  make  short  work 
of  him.  Miire<»ver,  Denys  was  little 
used  to  turning  his  back  on  danger, 
and  his  blood  wits  rising  at  bein^ 
hunted.     He  turned  to  bay. 

"  My  hour  is  come,"  thought  he. 
"  Ixt  me  me-et  death  like  a  man." 
He  kneele<l  down  nnd  gras|>*'(|  a  small 
shcM)t  to  steady  himself,  drew  his 
long  knite,  and,  elenehing  his  teeth, 
prepared  to  job  ihe  huge  brute  ns 
soon  as  it  should  mount  within 
reach. 

Of  this  combat  the  result  was  not 
doubtful. 

The  monster's  head  an<l  nwk  wa.*f 
s<aree  vulnerable  for  lK)ne  and  masses 
of  huir.  The  man  was  going  to 
sting  the  b«>ar,  and  the  iKitr  to  cnurk 
the  man  like  a  nut. 

(lerard's  hciirt  wius  In-tter  than  his 
nerves.  -He  saw  his  friend's  mortal 
danger,  and  passi-d  at  onee  from  fear 
to  blin<lish  ragt\  He  slipjK'd  ilown 
his  tree  in  a  moment,  caught  up  the 
cross-bow  which  he  had  drop|Md  in 
the  road,  nnd,  running  furiously  up, 
sent  a  lK)lt  into  the  liear's  l>ody  with 
a  loud  shout.  The  la-ar  gave  a  snarl 
of  rage  and  pain,  and  turned  its  head 
irn.'solutely. 

"Keep  aloof!"  cried  Denys,  "or 
you  are  a  dead  man." 

"  I  care  not,"  and  in  a  moment  he 
had  another  Itolt  nady  and  shot  it 
fiercely  into  the  l>ear,  screaming, 
"  Take  that !  take  that !  " 

Denys  jHJured  n  volley  of  oaths 
down  at  him.     "  Get  away,  idiot !  " 

He  was  right :  the  bear,  finding  .«o 
formidable  and  noisy  a  foe  behind 
him,  slipped  growling  down  the  tree, 
rending  deep  furrows  in  it  as  she 
slipped,  (ierard  ran  back  to  his  tree 
ami  climbed  it  swiftly.  But,  while  Iiis 
legs  were  dangling  some  eight  feet 
from  the  ground,  the  bear  came  rear- 
ing and  struck  with  her  fore  paw,  and 
out  Hew  a  piece  of  bloody  cloth  from 
Gerard's  hose.  He  climl)cd  and 
climbed  ;  and  presently  lie  liwinl,  Jis  it 
were  in  the  air,  a  voice  say,  "  Go  oul 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


9] 


on  the  bough ! "  He  looked,  and 
there  was  a  long,  massive  branch  be- 
fore him,  shooting  upwards  at  a  shght 
angle ;  he  threw  his  body  across  it, 
and  by  a  series  of  con-vnilsive  efforts 
worked  up  it  to  the  end. 

Then  he  looked  round,  panting. 

The  bear  was  mounting  the  tree  on 
the  other  side.  He  heard  her  claws 
scrape,  and  saw  her  bulge  on  both 
sides  of  the  massive  tree.  Her  eye 
not  being  very  quick,  she  reached  the 
fork  and  passed  it,  mounting  the 
main  stem.  Gerard  drew  breath 
more  freely.  The  bear  either  heard 
him,  or  found  by  scent  she  was 
wrong :  she  paused ;  presently  she 
caught  sight  of  him.  She  eyed  him 
steadily,  then  quietly  descended  to 
the  fork. 

Slowly  and  cautiously  she  stretched 
out  a  paw  and  tried  the  bough.  It 
was  a  stiff  oak  branch,  sound  as  iron. 
Instinct  taught  the  creature  this  ;  it 
crawled  carefully  out  on  the  bough, 
growling  savagely  as  it  came. 

Gerard  looked  wildly  down.  He 
was  forty  feet  from  the  ground. 
Death  below.  Death  moving  slow 
but  sure  on  him  in  a  still  more  hor- 
rible form.  His  hair  bristled.  The 
sweat  poured  from  him.  He  sat 
helpless,  fascinated,  tongue-tied. 

As  the  fearful  monster  crawled 
growling  towards  him,  incongruous 
thoughts  coursed  through  his  mind. 
Margaret,  —  the  Vulgate,  where  it 
speaks  of  the  rage  of  a  she-bear  robbed 
of  her  whelps,  —  Rome,  —  Eternity. 

The  bear  crawled  on.  And  now 
the  stupor  of  death  fell  on  the  doomed 
man  ;  he  saw  the  opened  jaws  and 
bloodshot  eyes  coming,  but  in  a  mist. 

As  in  a  mist  he  heard  a  twang ;  he 
glanced  down  ;  Denys,  white  and 
silent  as  death,  was  shooting  up  at 
the  bear.  The  bear  snarled  at  the 
twang,  but  crawled  on.  Again  the 
cross-bow  twanged ;  and  the  bear 
snarled,  and  came  nearer.  Again 
llie  cross-bow  twanged,  and  the  next 
moment  the  bear  was  close  upon  Ge- 
rard, where  he  sat,  with  hair  standing 
stiff  on  end  and  eyes  starting  from 


their  sockets,  palsied.  The  bear 
opened  her  jaws  like  a  grave  ;  and  hot 
blood  spouted  from  them  upon  Ge- 
rard as  from  a  pump.  The  bough 
rocked.  The  wounded  monster  was 
reeling ;  it  clung,  it  stuck  its  sick- 
les of  claws  deep  into  the  wood; 
it  toppled ;  its  claws  held  tirm,  but 
its  body  rolled  off,  and  the  sudden 
shock  to  the  branch  shook  Gerard 
forward  on  his  stomach  with  his  face 
upon  one  of  the  bear's  straining 
paws.  At  this,  by  a  convulsive  ef- 
fort she  raised  her  head  up,  up,  till 
he  felt  her  hot,  fetid  breath.  Then 
huge  teeth  snapped  together  loudly 
close  below  him  in  the  air,  with  a  last 
effort  of  baffled  hate.  The  ponder- 
ous carcass  rent  the  claws  out  of  the 
bough,  then  pounded  the  earth  with 
a  tremendous  thump.  There  was  a 
shout  of  triumph  below,  and  the  very 
next  instant  a  cry  of  dismay ;  for 
Gerard  had  swooned,  and,  without  an 
attempt  to  save  himself,  rolled  head- 
long from  the  perilous  height. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Dents  caught  at  Gerard,  and 
somewhat  checked  his  fall ;  but  it  may 
be  doubted  whether  this  alone  would 
have  saved  him  from  breaking  his 
neck  or  a  limb.  His  best  friend  now 
was  the  d\ing  bear,  on  whose  hairy 
carcass  his  head  and  shoulders  de- 
scended. Denys  tore  him  off  her. 
It  was  needless.  She  panted  still, 
and  her  limbs  quivered,  but  a  hare 
was  not  so  harmless ;  and  soon  she 
breathed  her  last;  and  the  judicious 
Denys  propped  Gerard  up  against 
her,  being  soft,  and  fanned  him.  He 
came  to  by  degrees,  but  confused,  and, 
feeling  the  bear  all  around  him,  rolled 
away,  yelling. 

"  "Courage,"  cried  Denys,  "  le  diable 
est  mort." 

"  Is  it  dead  ?  quite  dead  ? "  inquired 
Gerard  from  behind  a  tree;  for  his 
courage  was  feverish,  and  the  cold  fit 


92 


TIIK   CLOIMKi;    AM)    1111.    HI.AKIH. 


was  upon  liim  just  now,  nnil  had 
li.rn  fur  M>riu'  tiinc. 

"  Ikliolil,"  .siiid  Dirnys,  and  pulled 
the  lirute's  car  pliiyfullv,  und  opt-ni-d 
liiT  jiiws  and  put  in  his  head,  with 
otliir  insultin;;  unties,  in  the  midst 
ol   wlii<h  (.nrard  was  violently  sick. 

Deiiys  laughed  at  him. 

"  What  is  the  matter  now  ?  "  snid 
he  ;  "  also  why  tumble  otl  your  rierdi 
just  when  we  had  won  the  day  ?   ' 

'•  I  s\v(H)iied,  I  trow." 

•'  But  why  t  " 

Not  reeeivinjj  nn  answer,  lie  con- 
tiinird,  "  Green  i;irls  faint  us  ymm 
1L^  liMtk  at  you,  liut  tlnn  they  eh.x^se 
time  and  phue.  What  wuman  tver 
faiiiteil  up  a  tree  ?  " 

"  Sht;  sent  her  nasty  blou<\  all  over 
inc.  I  think  the  smell  muit  have 
overjKjwered  me.  I'augh  !  I  hate 
hlooil." 

"  I  do  liclievo  it  jiotcntly." 

"  8eo  what  u  ines.s  she  hua  made 
me !  " 

"  But  with  her  blotMl,  not  youm.  I 
pity  the  enemy  that  strives  to  satisfy 
\ou." 

"  You  need  not  to  hruL',  Maitn- 
Denys  ;  I  saw  you  uiuler  the  tree,  the 
eolor  of  your  shirt." 

"  lift  us  distin;:uish,"  said  Denvs, 
rf)lorin^  ;  "  it  is  jK-rmitted  to  trenihle 
/nr  II  I'rii'tiii." 

(itninl,  for  answer,  tiling  hi.s  arms 
round  Denvs's  neek  in  silence. 

••  Look  licre,"  whined  the  stout 
.'ioldiiT,  artWted  hy  this  little  f^ish  of 
nature  ami  youth,  "  was  evcrau;;ht  so 
like  a  wonuin  ?  I  love  thee,  little 
milkso|),  ^o  to.  Goo<l  !  Ik-IioUI  him 
on  his  knees  now.  What  new  ca- 
price is  this  7  " 

"  O  Denys,  ouf^ht  we  not  to  rc- 
Mvn  thanks  to  Him  who  has  saved 
lv>th  our  lives  a;,'ainst  such  fearful 
odds  '.  "  And  Gerard  kneeleil  and 
prayeil  aloud.  And  presently  he 
♦ound  Denys  kiieelinjr  quiet  lx;side 
him,  with  his  hands  across  his  bosom, 
after  the  custom  of  his  nation,  and  a 
face  as  long  as  his  arm.  When  they 
rose,  Gerard's  countenance  was  beam- 


"  (irMxl  Denys,"  said  he,  "  IleuTcQ 
will  rewaril  thy  piety." 

"  Ah,  bah  !  1  did  it  out  of  |>oliie- 
ness,"  said  the  Frenchman.  "  It 
was  to  please  tliee,  little  one.  Cost 
e^al ;  't  was  well  and  orderly  praveil, 
and  ediliej  mo  to  the  core  while  it 
lastetl.  A  bi>hop  liad  scarce  handlcil 
the  mutter  better  ;  .so  now  our  even 
^on^'  1)0  sun^,  and  the  suint.s  enlisted 
with  us — inarchuns." 

Kre  they  had  taken  two  »tcn«,  ho 
«lup|>ed.     "  By  tlie  bv,  the  cub  I  " 

"  O  no,  no  !  "  ciictl  (Jeranl. 

"  You  are  right.  It  is  late  ;  wc 
have  lost  time  climbing  tiees  and 
tumbling  otl'  'em,  and  swiMining,  and 
vomiting,  and  praying,  and  the  bruto 
is  heaivy  to  carry  ;  ami,  now  I  think 
on  't,  we  shall  have  |mpa  after  it 
next ;  these  licars  make  such  a  coil 
aliout  the  old  cub ;  what  is  this  ? 
You  are  wuuiided  I  vou  are  wound- 
ed !  " 

"  Not  I." 

"  He  is  wouniled,  miserable  that  I 
am." 

"  Be  calm,  Denys.  I  am  not 
tt)uchcd,  I  ftrl  no  pain  anyuhcre." 

"  You  '.  yt>u  only  feci  when  another 
is  hurt,"  cried  Denys,  with  great  em«)- 
tion  ;  and,  throwin;;  himself  on  his 
kmrs,  he  c.vamincd  Gerard's  leg  with 
glistening  eyes. 

"  Quick  !'<|uick  !  Wforc  it  stiffens," 
he  cried,  and  hurried  him  on. 

"  Who  makes  the  coil  alxtut  noth- 
ing now  ;  "  intjuired  Gerard,  comj»os- 
edlv. 

r)enys'3  n-ply  was  a  very  indirect 
one. 

"  Be  plea-scd  to  note,"  said  he, 
"  that  I  have  a  bad  heart.  You  were 
man  enough  to  save  my  life,  yet  I 
must  sneer  at  you,  a  novice  in  war; 
was  not  I  a  novice  once  myself?  Then 
you  fainted  from  a  wound,  and  I 
thought  you  swooned  for  fear,  and 
called  you  a  milksop.  Briclly,  I  have 
a  bad  tongue  and  a  bud  heart." 

"  Denvs !  " 

'•  Plait-il  ?  " 

"  You  lie." 

"  You  arc  very  good  to  say  so,  lit' 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


93 


tie  one,  and  I  am  eternally  obliged 
to  you,"  mumbled  the  remorseful 
Denys. 

Ere  they  had  walked  many  fur- 
longs, the  muscles  of  the  wounded 
leg  contracted  and  stiftened,  till  pres- 
ently Gerard  could  only  just  put  his 
too  to  the  ground,  and  tliat  with  great 
pain. 

At  last  he  could  bear  it  no  longer. 

"  Let  me  lie  down  and  die,"  he 
groaned,  "  for  this  is  intolerable." 

Denys  represented  that  it  was  af- 
ternoon, and  the  nights  were  now 
frosty,  and  cold  and  hunger  ill  com- 
panions, and  that  it  would  be  unrea- 
sonable to  lose  heart,  a  certain  great 
personage  being  notoriously  defunct. 
So  Gerard  leaned  upon  his  axe  and 
hobbled  on,  but  presently  he  gave  in 
all  of  a  sudden,  and  sank  helpless  in 
the  road. 

Denys  drew  him  aside  into  the 
wood,  and,  to  his  surprise,  gave  him 
his  cross-bow  and  belts,  enjoining  him 
strictly  to  lie  quiet,  and,  if  any  ill- 
looking  fellows  should  find  him  out 
and  come  to  him,  to  bid  them  keep 
aloof;  and,  should  they  refuse,  to  shoot 
them  dead  at  twenty  paces.  "  Honest 
men  keep  the  path,  and  knaves  in 
a  wood,  none  but  fools  do  parley 
with  them."  With  this  he  snatched 
up  Gerard's  axe  and  set  off  running, 
not,  as  Gerard  expected,  towards  Dus- 
seldorf,  but  on  the  road  they  had  come. 

Gerard  lay  aching  and  smarting, 
and,  to  him,  Kome,  that  seemed  so 
near  at  starting,  looked  far,  far  off,  now 
that  he  was  two  hundred  miles  nearer 
it.  But  soon  all  his  thoughts  turned 
Scvenbergen-wards  How  sweet  it 
would  be  one  day  to  hold  Margaret's 
hand  and  tell  her  all  he  had  gone 
through  for  her  !  The  very  thought 
of  it  and  her  soothed  him,  and  in  l;he 
midst  of  pain  and  irritation  of  the 
nerv-es  he  lay  resigned  and  sweetly 
though  faintly  smiling. 

He  had  lain  thus  more  than  two 
hours,  when  suddenly  there  were 
shouts,  and  the  next  moment  some- 
thing struck  a  tree  hard  by,  and  quiv- 
srod  in  it. 


He  looked,  it  was  an  arrow. 

He  started  to  his  feet.  Several  mis.' 
siles  rattled  among  the  boughs,  and 
the  wood  echoed  with  battle-cries. 
Whence  they  came  he  could  not  tell, 
for  noises  in  these  huge  woods  are  so 
reverberated  that  a  stranger  is  always 
at  fault  as  to  their  whereabout ;  but 
they  seemed  to  fill  the  whole  air. 
Presently  there  was  a  lull ;  then  he 
heard  the  fierce  galloping  of  hoofs ; 
and  still  loudei*  shouts  and  cries  arose, 
mingled  with  shrieks  and  groans,  and 
above  all  strange  and  terrible  soundi 
like  fierce  claps  of  thunder,  bellowing 
loud,  and  then  dying  oft"  in  cracking 
echoes ;  and  red  tongues  of  flame 
shot  out  ever  and  anon  among  the 
trees,  and  clouds  of  sul])hurous  smoke 
came  drifting  over  his  head,  and  aR 
was  still. 

Gerard  was  struck  with  awe. 
"  What  will  become  of  Denys  ?  "  he 
cried.  "  0,  why  did  you  leave  mel 
O  Denys,  my  friend,  my  friend  !  " 

Just  before  sunset  Denys  returned, 
almost  sinking  under  a  hairy  bundle. 
It  was  the  bear's  skin. 

Gerard  welcomed  him  with  a  burst 
of  joy  that  astonished  him. 

"  I  thought  never  to  see  you  again, 
dear  Denys.  Were  you  in  the  battle  1 " 

"  No.  '  ^Vhat  battle  1 " 

"  The  bloody  battle  of  men,  or 
fiends,  that  raged  in  the  wood  a 
while  agone  "  ;  and  with  this  he  de- 
scribed it  to  the  life,  and  more  fully 
than  I  have  done. 

Denys  patted  him  indulgently  on 
the  back. 

"  It  is  well,"  said  he, "  thou  art  a 
good  limner,  and  fever  is  a  great 
spur  to  the  imagination.  One  day  I 
lay  in  a  cart-shed  with  a  cracked 
skull,  and  saw  two  hosts  manoeuvre 
and  fight  a  good  hour  on  eight  feet 
square,  the  which  I  did  fairly  describe 
to  my  comrade  in  due  order,  only  not 
so  gorgeously  as  thou,  for  want  of 
book  leaj'ning." 

"  What,  then,  you  believe  me  not  ? 
when  I  tell  you  the  arrows  whizzed 
over  my  head,  and  the  combateVTild 
shouted,  and  —  " 


'J  4 


THK  CLOISTER  AND  THt  IIKAUTH. 


"  May  tho  f«iil  I'u'nds  fly  nway  with 
lu"  if  I  Ulifvi-  II  wnrtl  of  it." 

(ivninl  t<M<k  lii.H  iiriii,  and  quietly 
jMjiiitol  to  II  trir  r|i)Sf  hy. 

"Why,  it  Itxik*  liki-  —  it  is  —  a 
liroiui  urri>w,  uh  I  live  "  ;  und  he  went 
(Insc  and  louki-d  up  ut  it. 

•'  It  cnnu-  out  of  the  battle.  I 
hranl  it.  iiini  .saw  it." 

'•  All  Kii;;li.Hh  iirrow." 

'•  llow  know  you  tlmt  ?  " 

'•  Mjirry,  hy  itit  h-nt^th.  Tho  Knp- 
lisli  Imiwiiu'Ii  draw  th<'  Ixtw  to  I  he  ear, 
othrfH  only  to  the  ri^ht  hnast.  Ileniv 
th»-  Kn;,'li>h  Iooho  a  thnv  Coot  jthufl, 
und  (hit  is  one  of  iheni,  fierdiliou 
s«i/.e  them  !  Well,  if  thi.s  it  not  f:lH- 
mour,  then:  hius  lnvn  a  triHe  of  a  hattle  ; 
and  if  there  hiut  Imiii  a  hattle  in  so 
ridieulou.t  a  nluee  for  a  buttle  a.t  thit, 
why,  then,  't  it  no  hutine.st  of  niinr,  for 
my  diik<'  hath  no  i|iianrel  lunalM>ut.t  ; 
.S4)  li't  't  to  Im'iI,"  siuil  the  profcssinnal ; 
ami  with  thit  he  seniix-d  to;;ither  n 
hrjiit  of  ieavi-s,  ami  made  (ieranl  lie 
on  It,  hit  axe  hy  hi.t  siile  ;  he  then  lay 
down  U'tide  him,  with  one  hand  on 
hit  arbalett,  and  drew  the  lN<ar«kin 
over  them  hair  iiiwanl.  Thi-y  were 
s<M>n  lut  wann  tut  liNi.tt,  und  fa.t| 
a.s|er|i. 

Hut  lonir  Ufiire  the  dawn  (ieranl 
NNokc  hi.s  eomradc. 

•  What  t^hall  I  do,  Deny.t  ?    I  .lie 
I  famine." 

"  I)o  '  why  Ko  to  sleon  a|;nin,  in- 
rontinent  ;  i|iii  dort  dine. 

•'  Hut  I  tell  you  I  am  too  hunpry 
to  sl«H"j>,"  .snapiM'd  (ieranl. 

"  L»t  ut  mandi.  then,"  rrpliwl 
Denys,  with  patrmal  indulp-ncc. 

lie  had  a  brief  paroxysm  of  yawns  ; 
then  made  a  .small  bundle  of  In-ars' 
cars,  roilint:  them  up  in  a  strip  of 
the  .skin,  eiit  for  the  i)urj>o.sc ;  nnd 
they  tonk  the  road. 

(ierard  leaned  on  hi.s  axe,  and, 
nro|)]H'<l  by  Denys  on  the  other  side, 
liolilijed  alon;r,  not  without  sif^hs. 

"  I  hate  pain,"  said  Gerard,  vi- 
ciously. 

"  Therein  you  show  judgment,"  rc- 
f".!e>l  ]iapa.  smoothly. 

It  WU5  a  clear,  starlight  night ;  and 


(toon  the  moon,  risin^r,  revealc*!  the  end 
of    the    wood    at    no  j^reat    di.staiiee  ; 

Iilea.sant  sijcht,  »ine«  I>u.sMld«jrf  they 
:new  was  but  a  short  leu;jue  further 

At  the  ed;;e  of  the  wood  they  rame 
uj)on  somethin;;  so  mysterious  that 
they  stop|M-4l  to  ^u/.e  at  it  lufon-  po- 
in^;  up  to  it.  Two  white  pillars  roue 
in  the  air,  distant  a  few  paces  from 
each  i>thfr  ,  and  U-tween  them  st<MM'. 
many  tigurvit  that  looked  like  human 
foniis. 

"  I  go  no  further  till  I  know  what 
this  i.H,"  said  (ierard,  in  an  agitated 
whis|Kr ;  "  an*  they  eihgies  of  iho 
.saints,  for  men  to  pniy  to  on  tho 
n>ad,  or  live  robU-rs  waiting  to 
shoot  down  honest  travellem  ?  nay, 
living  men  they  eannot  lie,  for  they 
stand  on  nothing  that  I  .*ee.  O 
Denys,  let  us  turn  baek  till  duybn-nk; 
thit  is  no  mortal  si^ht." 

Denys  halted  and  jKH-n'il  Ion;;  and 
kef  Illy.  "  They  are  nun,"  said  he,  at 
last,  (ieranl  was  for  turning  hack 
all  the  more. 

"  Hut  men  that  will  never  hurt  nn, 
nor  we  them.  I^Mik  not  to  their  feet 
for  that  they  stand  on  !  " 

"  When-  then,  i'  the  name  of  all  the 
saints  '  " 

"  I<<Mik  over  their  heads!"  said 
D<-nys,  gravely. 

Following  this  dinx-tion,  Gemrd 
pn-sently  di»cerne<I  the  outline  of  a 
dark  wiHMlen  U'am  passing  from  pil- 
lar to  pillar ;  and,  as  the  pair  got 
nearer,  walking  now  on  tiptoe,  one 
by  one  durk.  snake-like  cords  came 
out  in  the  iiutonli^ht,  each  jx-ndent 
from  the  U-am  to  a  dead  man,  and 
tight  as  wire. 

Now,  as  they  came  under  this  awful 
monument  of  crime  and  wh'>lesal<" 
vengiance,  o  light  air  swept  by  ;  and 
several  of  the  corp-ses  swung,  or 
gently  gyrateil,  and  every  ropecreake*!. 
CJerard  shudih-red  at  this  ghastly 
salute.  So  thoroiighlv  had  the  giU 
hot  witli  'Ha  sickening  loud  .seized  and 
held  their  eyes,  that  it  was  but  now 
they  jK-rccived  a  tire  right  under- 
neath, and  a  living  figure  sitting 
huddled  over  it.     lli«  axe  lav  bcsido 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


95 


him,  the  briftht  blade  shining  red  in 
the  glow,     lie  was  asleep. 

Gerard  started,  but  Dcnys  only 
whispered,  "  Courage,  comrade,  here 
is  a  fire." 

"Ay!  but  there  is  a  man  at  it." 

"  There  will  soon  be  three  "  ;  and 
he  began  to  heap  some  wood  on  it 
that  the  watcher  had  prepared  ;  dur- 
ing which  the  prudent  Gerard  seized 
the  man's  axe,  and  sat  down  tight 
on  it,  grasping  his  own,  and  exam- 
ining the  sleeper.  There  was  noth- 
ing outwardly  distinctive  in  the  man. 
He  wore  the  dress  of  the  country  folk, 
and  the  hat  of  the  district,  a  three- 
cornered  hat  called  a  Brunswicker, 
stiff  enough  to  turn  a  sword-cut,  and 
with  a  thick  brass  hat-band.  The 
weight  of  the  whole  thing  had  turned 
his  ears  entirely  down,  like  a  fancy 
rabbit's  in  our  century ;  but  even 
this,  though  it  spoiled  him  as  a  man, 
was  nothing  remarkable.  They  had 
of  late  met  scores  of  these  dog's-eared 
rustics.  The  peculiarity  was  —  this 
clown  watching  under  a  laden  gal- 
lows.    What  for? 

Deuys,  if  he  felt  curious,  would 
not  show  it ;  he  took  out  two  bears' 
ears  from  his  bundle,  »nd,  running 
sticks  through  them,  began  to  toast 
them. 

"  'T  will  be  eating  coined  money," 
said  he ;  "  for  the  burgomaster  of 
Dusseldorf  had  given  us  a  rix-dollar 
for  these  ears,  as  proving  the  death  of 
their  owners  ;  but  better  a  lean  purse 
thau  a  lean  stomach." 

"  Unhappy  man  !  "  cried  Gerard, 
"could  you  eat  food  here?" 

"  Where  the  fire  is  lighted  there 
must  the  meat  roast,  and  where  it 
roasts  there  must  it  be  eaten ;  for 
naught  travels  worse  than  your 
roasted  meat." 

"  Well,  eat  thou,  Denys,  an  thou 
canst !  but  I  am  cold  and  sick  ;  there 
is  no  room  for  hunger  in  my  heart 
after  what  mine  eyes  have  seen,"  and 
he  shuddered  over  the  fire.  "  O,  how 
they  creak !  and  who  is  this  man, 
I  winder  ?  what  an  ill-favored 
churl ' " 


Denys  examined  him  like  a  con- 
noisseur looking  at  a  picture ;  and  in 
due  course  delivered  judgment.  "  I 
take  him  to  be  of  the  refuse  of  that 
company  whereof  these  (pointing 
carelessly  upward)  were  the  cream, 
and  so  ran  their  heads  into  dan- 
ger." 

"  At  that  rate,  why  not  stun  him 
before  he  wakes  ?  "  and  Gerard  fid- 
geted where  he  sat. 

Denys  opened  his  eyes  with  humor- 
ous sm-prise.  "  For  one  who  sets  up 
for  a  milksop  you  have  the  readiest 
hand.  Why  should  two  stun  one  ? 
tush !  he  wakes  ;  note  now  what  he 
says  at  waking,  and  tell  me." 

These  last  words  were  hardly  whis- 
pered when  the  watcher  opened  his 
eyes.  At  sight  of  the  fire  made  up, 
and  two  strangers  eying  him  keenly, 
he  stared,  and  there  was  a  s  ^vere  and 
pretty  succcj^ful  effort  to  be  calm ; 
stiil  a  perceptible  tremor  ran  all  over 
hun.  Soon  he  manned  himself,  and 
said  gniffly,  "  Good  morrow."  But, 
at  the  very  moment  of  saying  it,  he 
missed  his  axe,  and  saw  how  Gerard 
was  sitting  upon  it,  with  his  own  laid 
ready  to  his  hand.  He  lost  counte- 
nance again  directly.  Denys  smiled 
grimly  at  this  bit  of  by-play. 

"  Good  morrow !  "  said  Gerard  qui- 
etly, keeping  his  eye  on  him. 

The  watcher  was  now  too  ill  at 
ease  to  be  silent.  "  You  make  free 
with  my  fire,"  said  he  ;  but  he  added, 
in  a  somewhat  faltering  voice,  "  you 
are  welcome." 

Denys  whispered  Gerard.  The 
watcher  eyed  them  askant. 

"  My  comrade  says,  sith  we  share 
your  fire,  you  shall  share  his  meat." 

"  So  be  it,"  said  the  man,  warmly. 
"  I  have  half  a  kid  hanging  on  a  bush 
hard  by  ;  I  '11  go  fetch  it  "  ;  and  he 
arose  with  a  cheerful  and  obliging 
countenance,  and  was  retiring. 

Denys  caught  up  his  cross-bow,  and 
levelled  it  at  his  head.  The  man  fell 
on  his  knees. 

Denys  lowered  his  weapon,  and 
pointed  him  back  to  his  place.  lie 
rose  and  went  back  slowly  and  m^- 


96 


THK  CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


BtCfldily,  like  one  disjointed,  and  sick 
at  heart  as  the  mouse  that  the  eat  lets 
go  a  little  wny,  and  then  durtd  and 
replaces. 

"  Sit  down,  friend,"  said  Dcnys, 
primly,  in  French. 

The  man  obevcd  finger  and  tone, 
though  he  knew  not  a  word  of 
French. 

"  Tell  him  the  (ire  is  not  hig  enough 
for  more  than  three.  He  will  take  my 
meaning." 

This  being  eommnnieated  by  Ge- 
nird,  tlie  man  grinned ;  ever  since 
Denys  s|)oke  he  had  seemed  great- 
ly relieved.  "  I  wist  not  ye  were 
strangers,"  said  he  to  (jerard. 

Denys  cut  a  piece  of  bear's  ear,  ami 
offered  it  with  grace  to  him  lie  had 
just  levelled  cross-bow  at. 

lie  took  it  calndy,  and  drew  a  piece 
of  bread  from  his  wallet,  and  divided 
it  with  the  pair.  Nay,  more,  he 
winked  and  thrust  his  hand  into  the 
heap  of  leaves  he  sat  on  ((Jerard 
gras])ed  his  a.\c  ready  to  brain  him), 
and  pnxluceil  a  leathern  Untie  hold- 
ing tull  two  gallons.  He  put  it  to 
his  mouth,  and  dnink  their  healths, 
then  hnmli'd  it  to  Gerard  ;  he  passed 
it  untotiilud  to  Denys. 

"  Mort  de  ma  vicl  "  cried  the  sol- 
dier, "  it  is  Uhcnish  wine,  and  fit  for 
tlie  gullet  of  an  archbishop.  Here  's 
to  thee,  thou  prince  of  good  fel- 
lows, wishing  thee  a  short  life  and 
a  merry  one!  Come,  Gerard,  sujd 
sup  !  Pshaw,  never  heed  them,  man  ! 
they  heed  not  thee.  Natheless,  did 
I  hang  over  such  a  skin  of  Uhcnish 
as  this,  and  three  churls  sat  l)cneath 
a  draining  it  and  offered  rac  not 
a  drop,  I  'd  soon  be  down  among 
them.' 

"  Dcnys  !  Dcnys  !  " 

"  My  spirit  would  cut  the  cord,  and 
womp  would  come  my  lx)dy  amongst 
ye,  with  a  hand  on  the  bottle,  and  one 
eye  winking,  t'other  —  " 

Gerard  started  up  with  a  cry  of 
horror  and  his  fingers  to  his  cars,  and 
was  running  from  the  place,  when  his 
eyes  fell  on  the  watcher's  axe.  The 
tangible  danger  brought  him  hack. 


He  sat  down  again  r>n  thv  ax--  wiik 
his  fingers  in  his  ears. 

"Courage,  I'ami,  lediablcest  mort! " 
shouted  Denys,  gayly,  and  offered  him 
a  piece  of  la-ar's  ear,  jiut  it  right  un- 
der his  no.se  »is  he  stoj>{)e(l  his  ears. 
Gerard  tumeil  his  head  away  with 
loathing.  "  Wine  ! "  he  gas[>ed. 
"  Heaven  knows  I  have  much  need 
of  it,  with  such  companions  as  thee 
and  —  " 

He  took  a  long  draught  of  the 
Rhenish  wine  :  it  ran  glowing  through 
his  veins,  and  wanned  and  strength- 
eiK-tl  his  heart  ;  but  eouM  not  check 
his  tremors  whenever  a  gust  of  wind 
came.  As  for  Denys  and  the  olher, 
they  feastcfl  recklessly,  and  plied  the 
iKjttle  unceasingly,  and  drank  healths 
ami  caroused  beneath  that  creaking 
scjuilchre  and  its  ghastly  tenants. 

"  Ask  him  how  tiny  came  here," 
said  Denys,  with  his  mouth  full,  and 
])ointing  up  without  looking. 

Un  this  question  iK'ing  inteq»retcd 
to  the  watcher,  he  replied  that  trea.son 
had  Iteeii  their  end,  dialK>licai  trea- 
son and  priestcraft.  He  then,  l>eing 
rendere<l  communicative  by  drink, 
delivereil  a  lou^'  prosy  narrative,  the 
purjiort  of  which  wius  as  follows. 
I'hese  honest  gentlemen,  who  now 
dangled  here  so  miscrablv,  were  all 
stout  men  and  true,  and  lived  in  the 
forest" by  their  wits.  Their  indepen- 
dence and  thriving  state  excited  the 
jealousy  and  liatnd  of  a  large  portion 
of  mankind  ;  and  many  attem|)ts  were 
made  on  their  lives  and  liliertics ; 
these  the  Virgin  and  their  patron 
saints,  coupled  with  their  individual 
skill  and  courage,  constantly  baffled. 
But  yester-cve  a  party  of  merchants 
came  slowly  on  their  mules  from 
Dusseldorf.  The  honest  men  saw 
them  crawling,  and  let  them  penetrate 
near  a  league  into  the  forest,  then  set 
upon  them  to  make  them  disgorge  a 
portion  of  their  ill-gotten  gains.  But, 
alas !  the  merchants  were  no  mer- 
chants at  all,  but  soldiers  of  more 
than  one  nation,  in  the  pay  of  the 
Archbishop  of  Cologne  ;  haubergeong 
had    they  beneath  their  gowns,  and 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


97 


weapons  of  all  Borts  at  hand  ;  nathe- 
less,  the  honest  men  fought  bravely 
and  pressed  the  traitors  hard,  when 
lo  !  horsemen,  that  had  been  planted 
in  ambush  many  hours  before,  gal- 
loped up,  and  with  these  new  diaboli- 
cal engines  of  war  shot  leaden  bullets, 
and  laid  many  an  honest  fellow  low, 
and  so  quelled  the  courage  of  others 
that  they  yielded  them  prisoners. 
These,  being  taken  red-handed,  the 
victors,  who  with  malice  inconceivable 
had  brought  cords  knotted  round 
their  waists,  did  speedily  hang,  and 
by  their  side  the  dead  ones,  to  make 
the  gallanter  show.  "  That  one  at 
the  end  was  the  captain.  Ho  never 
felt  the  cord.  He  was  riddled  with 
broad  arrows  and  leaden  balls  or  ever 
they  could  take  him  ;  a  worthy  man 
as  ever  cried,  '  Stand  and  deliver  ! ' 
but  a  little  hasty,  not  much  ;  stay  !  I 
forgot ;  he  is  dead.  Very  hasty,  and 
obstinate  as  a  pig.  That  one  in  the 
buff  jerkin  is  the  lieutenant,  as  good 
a  soul  as  ever  lived ;  he  was  hanged 
alive.  This  one  here  I  never  could 
abide  ;  no  (not  that  one  ;  that  is  Con- 
rad, my  bosom  friend)  ;  I  mean  this 
one  right  overhead  in  the  chicken-toed 
shoon :  you  were  always  carrying 
talc,  j'C  thief,  and  making  mischief; 
you  know  you  were  ;  and,  sirs,  I  am 
a  man  that  would  rather  live  united 
in  a  coppice  than  in  a  forest  with 
backbiters  and  talebearers ;  strangers, 
I  drink  to  you."  And  so  he  went 
down  the  whole  string,  indicating 
with  the  neck  of  the  bottle  like  a 
showman  with  his  pole,  and  giving  a 
neat  description  of  each,  which,  though 
pithy,  was  invariably  false ;  for  the 
showman  had  no  real  eye  for  charac- 
ter, and  had  misunderstood  every  one 
of  these  people. 

"  Enough  palaver !  "  cried  Denys. 
"  Marchons !  Give  me  his  axe :  now 
tell  him  he  must  help  you  along." 

The  man's  countenance  fell,  but  he 
saw  in  Denys's  eye  that  resistance 
would  be  dangerous ;  he  submitted. 
Gerard  it  was  who  objected.  He  said, 
"  Y  pensez-vous  1  to  put  my  hand  on 
a  thief,  it  maketh  my  flesh  creep." 


"  Childishness !  all  trades  must  live. 
Besides,  I  have  my  reasons.  Be  not 
you  wiser  than  your  elder." 

"  No.  Only  if  I  am  to  lean  on 
him  I  must  have  my  hand  in  ray 
bosom,  still  gi'asping  the  haft  of  my 
knife." 

"  It  is  a  new  attitude  to  walk  in  ; 
but  please  thyself." 

And  in  that  strange  and  mixed  at- 
titude of  tender  offices  and  deadly 
suspicion  the  trio  did  walk.  I  wish  I 
could  draw  them ;  I  would  not  trust 
to  the  pen. 

The  light  of  tbe  watch-tower  at 
Dusseldorf  was  visible  as  soon  as  they 
cleared  the  wood,  and  cheered  Gerard. 
When,  after  an  hour's  march,  the 
black  outline  of  the  tower  itself  and 
other  buildings  stood  out  clear  to 
the  eye,  their  companion  halted,  and 
said,  glooinily  :  "  You  may  as  well 
slay  me  out  of  hand  as  take  me 
any  nearer  the  gates  of  Dusseldorf 
town." 

On  this  being  communicated  to 
Denys,  he  said  at  once,  "  Let  him  go, 
then,  for  in  sooth  his  neck  will  be  in 
jeopardy  if  he  wends  much  further 
with  us."  Gerai'd  acquiesced  as  a 
matter  of  course.  His  horror  of  a 
criminal  did  not  in  the  least  dispose 
him  to  active  co-operation  with  the 
law.  But  the  fact  is,  that  at  this 
epoch  no  private  citizen  in  any  part 
of  Europe  ever  meddled  with  crimi- 
nals but  in  self-defence,  except,  by  the 
by,  in  England,  which,  behind  other 
nations  in  some  things,  was  centuries 
before  them  all  in  this. 

The  man's  personal  liberty  being 
restored,  he  asked  for  his  axe.  It  was 
given  him.  To  the  friends'  surprise 
he  still  lingered.  Was  he  to  have 
nothing  for  coming  so  far  out  of  his 
way  with  them  1 

"  Here  affe  t\vo  batzen,  friend." 
"  And  the  wine,  the  good    Rlieit 
ish  1 " 

"  Did  you  give  aught  for  it  ?  " 
"  Ay  !  the  peril  of  my  life." 
"  Hum  !  what  say  you,  Denys  1  " 
"  I  say  it  was  worth  its  weight  in 
gold.     Here,  lad,  here  be  silver  gro9« 


98 


mi:   CLOISTER    AM)   TIIK    IlKAKTH. 


chcn.  one  for  even-  acorn  on  that  pnl- 
l«)w.-«-trif ,  ami  liere  U  one  mori'  for 
thie  —  wlio  wilt  dotibtlcM  be  tlicrv 
ill  duo  •«»-a-<oii." 

'I'lic  inuu  took  the  coins,  but  «tiU 
lin;;<riHl. 

•■  Well,  what  now  ?  "  rrie<l  ficrard. 
»ti<>  thuti^'ht  him  nhdiiufully  ovi-rpuid 
iilreadv.  "  Dost  swk  the  hide  off 
i)ur  iMjnes  ? " 

"  Nay,  pood  sirs ;  bat  yon  hare 
M-en  ti>-nipht  how  parlous  a  life  ii 
mine.  Yc  l>c  trtio  men,  and  your 
pniver!*  avail  ;  pivc  me  then  a  stniall 
in  lie  oCa  prayer,  an  "t  please  you  ;  for 
I  know  not  one." 

tJeranl'.H  eholer  ))cpan  to  rise  at  the 
1  i,'«)ti'.tieal  roj^tie  ;  nion'ovt-r.  erer 
itinec  hi4  wound,  he  hud  felt  pu^t.H  of 
irritalMlity.  Ilowevi-r,  he  hit  hi.i  lip, 
iind  !•  liil,  ■■  Then*  po  two  wonl.H  to 
tliiit  hiir^'ain  ;  tell  me  tip*t,  is  it  tnic 
what  men  dnyof  you  Khenioh  thieves, 
ihiit  ve  do  munler  innocent  and  un- 
n.'.'«i'<tin:;  travcllrrs  as  well  aa  rob 
them  '  " 

The  otlier  an»wertil,»iHlkily,  "  They 
vou  eull  thieve.s  are  not  to  blame  for 
that  ;  the  fuult  lies  with  the  law." 

'•  (Iriunerey  !  so  't  is  the  law's  fault 
tliat  ill  men  bn-ak  it  1  " 

•■  I  nu-an  not  st> ;  but  the  law  in 
this  land  slays  an  lioni>st  man  an'  if 
he  ilo  but  steal.  What  follows  '  he 
would  l>e  pitiful,  but  is  di."»eourB^iMl 
tlien-from  ;  pity  j;ains  him  no  pity, 
and  doubles  his  |MTil  ;  an  he  but  rut 
a  piir^e.  his  life  is  forfeit ;  therefore 
eutteth  he  the  thmat  to  Uxit,  to  save 
his  own  neck  ;  «lead  men  tell  no  ta\v». 
I'ray.  then,  for  the  jMjor  soul  who  by 
bhx)dy  laws  is  driven  to  kill  or  else  Ik> 
slau;;i)tered  ;  were  there  less  of  this 
uurejusonable  (jibbotin;:  on  the  high- 
road, there  should  Iw  less  enforced 
cuttinfj  of  throaLs  in  dark^woods,  my 
masters." 

"  Fewer  words  had  served,"  replied 
Gerard,  coldly  ;  "  I  asked  a  quesition, 
I  am  answereil  "  ;  and,  suddenly  doff- 
ing his  bonnet :  — 

"  '  Obsecro  Deum  omnipotenlnn,  ut, 
qua  cruce  jam  pendent  isti  quindecim 


liitronea  furra  et  knmlcidir,  in  iti  homtd 
Jit  fur  ft  lairo  lu  pr/inuirni  r/uum  eili^ 
$imf,  ftm  puUica  talutr,  i/i  hoiu>rrm  jutU 
iMi  CM  tit  gloria,  in  tttemum,  Amen.' 

"  And  to  pood  day." 

TIh-  pn'Cfly  outlaw  was  satisfied  at 
last.  "  Tlwt  is  Latin,"  he  miittentl, 
•'  and  jnore  than  I  bargained  for."  So 
indecii  it  was. 

And  he  returned  to  his  busincM 
with  a  mind  at  ea.so.  The  friends 
|M>ndere«l  in  »ilenee  the  many  creotM 
of  the  last  few  hours. 

At  last  (iernrd  saiil,  thoughtfully, 
"  That  she-boar  saved  both  our  lire* 
—  bv  (ioil's  will." 

"t.ike  enough,"  replic<l  Dcnys; 
"  and.  talking  of  that,  it  was  luekjr 
we  did  not  dawdle  over  our  supper.' 

••  What  nu^an  you  '  " 

"  I  mean  they  arx-  not  all  hanprd  ; 
I  saw  a  n-fuse  of  seven  «>r  eight  as 
black  as  ink  around  our  fire." 

"  When  '  when  '  " 

"  Ere  we  had  left  it  five  minutes." 

*' (}o»xl  Heavens!  And  you  said 
not  a  wonl." 

•'  It  woulil  but  have  worried  you, 
and  had  set  our  friend  a  l<M>king  hack, 
and  mayhiip  temt>tcd  him  to  get  his 
skull  st>lit.  All  other  danger  was 
over;  tney  could  not  sec  us,  we  were 
out  of  the  moonshine,  anil,  indeed, just 
turning  a  corner;  ah!  there  is  the 
sun  ;  and  lu-n'  are  the  gates  of  Dus- 
.seldorf  Courage,  I'anii,  Ic  diabic  cat 
mort." 

"  My  head  !  my  head  !  "  was  all 
poor  ( icrard  could  reply. 

"  So  many  shocks,  emotions,  pains, 
horrors,  aildcd  to  the  wound,  his  first, 
had  tried  his  youthful  IhxIv  and  sensi- 
tive nature  too  severely. 

It  wa.9  noon  of  the  same  <lay. 

In  a  bedroom  of"  The  Silver  Lion  " 
the  rugged  Denys  sat  anxious,  watch- 
ing his  young  friend. 

And  he  lay  raging  with  fever,  de- 
lirious at  intervals,  and  one  word  for- 
ever on  his  lips  :  — 

"  Margaret !  —  Margaret !  —  Mar- 
garet !  " 


THE   CLOTSTKR    AND   THE  HEARTH. 


99 


CHAPTER  XXVL 

It  was  the  afternoon  of  the  next 
iav.  Gerard  was  no  longer  li<;:ht- 
Jieaded,  but  very  irritable,  and  full  of 
f  mcies  ;  and  in  one  of  these  he  begged 
Denys  to  get  him  a  lemon  to  suck. 
Denys,  who  from  a  rough  soldier  had 
been  turned  by  tender  friendship  into 
a  kind  of  grandfather,  got  up  hastily, 
and,  bidding  him  set  his  mind  at  ease, 
"  Lemons  he  should  have  in  the  twink- 
ling of  a  quart  pot,"  went  and  ran- 
sacked the  shops  for  them. 

They  were  not  so  common  in  the 
North  as  they  are  now,  and  he  was 
absent  a  long  while,  and  Gerard  get- 
ting very  impatient,  when  at  last  the 
door  opened.  But  it  was  not  Denys. 
Entered  softly  an  imposing  figure ; 
an  old  gentleman  in  a  long  sober 
gown  trimmed  with  rich  fur,  cherry- 
colored  hose  and  pointed  shoes,  with 
a  sword  by  his  side  in  a  morocco  scab- 
bard, a  rutf  round  his  neck,  not  only 
starched  severely,  but  treacherously 
stiffened  in  furrows  by  rebatoes,  or  a 
little  hidden  framework  of  wood ;  and 
on  his  head  a  four-cornered  cap  with 
a  fur  border ;  on  his  chin  and  bosom 
a  majestic  white  beard.  Gerard  was 
in  no  doubt  as  to  the  vocation  of  his 
visitor,  for,  the  sword  excepted,  this 
was  familiar  to  him  as  the  full  dress 
of  a  physician.  Moreover,  a  boy  fol- 
lowed at  his  heels  with  a  basket, 
where  phials,  lint,  and  surgical  tools 
rather  courted  than  shunned  observa- 
tion.  The  old  gentleman  came  softly 
to  the  bedside,  and  said  mildly  and 
solto  voce,  "  How  is  't  with  thee,  m}- 
son  ? " 

Gerard  answered,  gratefully,  that  his 
wound  gave  him  little  pain  now  ;  but 
his  throat  was  parched  and  his  head 
heavy. 

"A  wound?  they  told  me  not  of 
that.  Let  me  see  it.  Ay,  ay,  a  good 
clean  liite.  The  mastiff"  had  sound 
teeth  that  took  this  out,  I  warrant 
me  " ;  and  the  good  doctor's  sympathy 
seemed  to  run  off  to  the  (piadruped  he 
had  conjured,  —  his  jackal. 

"  This  must  be  cauterized  forthwith, 


or  we  shall  have  you  starting  back 
from  water,  and  turning  soiuersaiilts 
in  bed  under  our  hands.  'T  is  the 
year  for  raving  curs,  and  one  hath 
done  your  business ;  but  we  will  baffle 
him  yet.  Urchin,  go  heat  thine  iron." 

"  But,  sir,"  edged  in  Gerard,  "  't  was 
no  dog,  but  a  bear." 

"  A  bear  !  young  man  ?  "  remon- 
strated the  senior,  severely  ;  "  think 
what  you  say ;  't  is  ill  jesting  with 
the  man  of  art  who  brings  his  gray 
hairs  and  long  study  to  heal  you.  A 
bear,  quotha !  Had  you  dissected  as 
many  bears  as  I,  or  the  tithe,  and 
drawn  their  teeth  to  keep  your  hand 
in,  you  would  know  that  no  bear's 
jaw  ever  made  this  foolish,  trifling 
wound.  I  tell  you  't  was  a  dog,  and, 
since  you  put  me  to  it,  I  even  deny 
that  it  was  a  dog  of  magnitude,  but 
neither  more  nor  less  than  one  of  these 
little  furious  curs  that  are  so  rife,  and 
run  devious,  biting  each  manly  leg, 
and  laying  its  wearer  low  but  for  mc 
and  my  learned  brethren,  who  still 
stay  the  mischief  with  knife  and  cau- 
tery." 

"  Alas,  sir !  when  said  I  't  was  a 
bear's  jaw  1  I  said,  '  A  bear  ' :  it 
was  his  paw,  now." 

"  And  why  didst  not  tell  me  that 
at  once  ? " 

"  Because  you  kept  telling  me  in- 
stead." 

"  Never  conceal  aught  from  your 
leech,  young  man,"  continued  the 
senior,  who  was  a  good  talker,  but 
one  of  the  worst  listeners  in  Europe. 
"  Well,  it  is  an  ill  business.  All  the 
horny  excrescences  of  animals,  to  wit 
claws  of  tigers,  panthers,  badgers, 
cats,  bears,  and  the  like,  and  horn  of 
deer,  and  nails  of  humans,  especially 
children,  are  imbued  with  direct  poi- 
son. Y'  hnd  better  have  been  bitten 
by  a  cur,  whatever  you  may  say,  than 
gored  by  bull  or  stag,  or  scratched  by 
bear.  However,  shalt  have  a  good 
biting  cataplasm  for  thy  leg ;  mean- 
time, keep  we  the  body  cool :  put  out 
thy  tongue  !  good !  —  fever.  Let  me 
feel  thy  pulse  ;  good  !  fever.  I  ordain 
phlebotomy,  and  on  the  instant" 


100 


TIIR   CI.OISTKR   AND    IIIi:    Ili:.M;TH 


"Phlcholomy!  llmt  is  l.lofMlli'tting : 
hnin|)h  ?  Well,  no  iiiiittir,  if  't  is 
sure  to  euro  inc  ;  for  I  will  not  lie 
idle  here."  Tliu  donor  let  iiini  know 
that  |ililel)otomy  was  infallible  ;  esja-- 
ciidly  ill  this  ease. 

"  Hans,  ISO  feteh  the  thinffs  need- 
ful ;  and  I  will  entertain  the  patient 
meantime  with  re.Tsons." 

The  man  of  art  then  explained  to 
Gerard  that  in  disease  the  hlood  lie- 
comes  hot  and  distemjiered,  and  more 
or  less  poisonous  ;  hut,  a  jtortion  of 
this  uidiealthy  liiiidd  removed.  Nature 
is  lain  to  ereate  a  purer  tiuid  to  fdl  its 
plaee.  Bleedin;:,  tlierefore,  heinj;  both 
a  eooler  and  a  piiritier,  was  a  sjieeifie 
in  all  diM'ases,  fc»r  all  diseases  are  fe- 
brile, whatever  empiries  mi;,'ht  say. 

"  But  thii\k  not,"  said  he,  warndy, 
"  that  it  sulliees  to  bleed  :  any  paltry 
barber  ean  ot)on  a  vein  (th4>u;:li  not 
nil  can  elose  it  Ofjain).  The  art  is  to 
know  what  vein  to  empty  for  wliat 
disease.  T'other  day  they  hrou^dit 
me  one  tormented  with  earaehe.  I 
let  him  blood  in  the  ri^dit  thi;;h,  and 
away  Hew  his  earaehe.  Hy  the  by,  he 
has  dietl  sinee  then.  Aiunher  came 
with  the  t(H)thaehe.  I  bled  him  l>c- 
hind  the  ear,  antl  relieved  him  in  a 
jiffy.  lie  is  also  sinee  dead,  as  it 
naj)pens.  I  bled  our  bailiff  between 
the  thund)  and  forefinfrcr  for  rheuma- 
tism. I'resently  he  comes  to  mc 
with  a  headache  and  ilnimminp  in 
the  ears,  and  liolds  out  liis  hand  over 
the  basin  ;  but  I  smiled  at  his  folly, 
and  bled  him  in  tlie  left  ankle,  sore 
ajrainst  his  will,  and  m.nde  his  head 
as  lifiht  as  a  nut." 

Diver;:in<r,  then,  from  the  immediate 
theme,  after  the  manner  of  enthusi- 
asts, the  reverend  teacher  proceeded 
thus : — 

"  Know,  younp  man,  that  two 
selioolsof  art  contend  at  this  moment 
throufxhout  Europe.  The  Arabian, 
whose  ancient  oracles  are  Avicenna, 
Rhazcs,  Alhuc.izis,  and  its  revivers 
arc  Chauliac  and  Lanfranc  ;  and  the 
Greek   school,  whose  modern  cham- 

Kions    are   Bessarion,   Platinus,    and 
larsilius  Ficinus,  but  whose  pristine 


'  doctors  were  medicine's  very  oracleg, 
I  rhiL'bus,    Chiron,    vKsculapius,    and 
his    sons    I'odaliniis    and    Mat  haon, 
I'vtba^roras,  Democritus,  I'ni.xa^oraa 
w)ii>  invented  the  arteries,  and  Dioctes 
'  qui    jirimus    urime    aninnim    ditiit. 
I  All  these  taught  orally.     Then  came 
I  HipjKM-rates,     the     eighteenth     from 
I  .Kseulapius,    and   of   him    we    have 
'manuscripts;    to    him    we   owe  "  the 
vital    principle."      lie   also    invented 
the  bandage,  and  tapped  for  water  on 
the  clic-st  ;  and  above  all  he  dissected, 
yet  only  (|uadrupcds,  for  the    hnital 
prcjuiliccs  of  the  pagan  vulgar  with- 
held the  human  iMxly  from   the  knife 
of  .science.      Him    folhtwcd  Aristotle, 
who    gave   us  the  aorta,    the    largest 
blood-vessel  in  the  human  body. 

"  Surely,  sir,  the  Almighty  gave 
us  all  that  is  in  our  Itodies,  and  not 
Aristotle,  nor  any  Grecian  man," 
objected  Gerard,  hund)ly. 

"  Child  !  of  course  he  gave  us  the 
thing;  luit  Aristotle  did  n-orc,  ho 
gave  us  the  name  of  the  thing.  But 
young  men  will  still  l>c  talking.  The 
next  great  light  was  (Jalen  ;  lie  stud- 
ied at  Alexandria,  then  the  home  of 
science.  He,  justly  malecontent  with 
quadnipeds,  dissected  apes,  as  com- 
ing nearer  to  man,  and  tiled  like  a 
Trojan.  Then  came  'I'hcophilus,  who 
gave  us  tlic  nenes,  the  lacteal  ves- 
sels, and  the  pia  mater." 

This  worried  Gerard.  "I  cannot 
lie  still  and  hear  it  said  that  mortal 
man  bestowed  the  parts  w  hich  Adam 
our  father  took  from  Him  who  made 
him  of  the  clay,  and  us  his  sons. ' 

"  AVas  ever  such  perversity  1 "  said 
the  doctor,  his  cholcr  rising.  "  Who 
is  tlie  real  donor  of  a  thing  to  man? 
he  who  plants  it  secretly  in  the  dark 
recesses  of  man's  body,  or  the  learned 
wight  who  reveals  it  to  his  intelli- 
gence, and  so  enriches  his  mind  with 
the  knowledge  of  it  ?  Comprehen- 
sion is  your  only  true  possession. 
Are  you  .answered  ?  " 

"  i  am  put  to  silence,  sir." 
"  And  that  is  better  still ;  for  gar- 
i  ruloiis  patients  arc  ill  to  cure,  espo- 
I  cially  in  fever  ;  I  say,  then,  that  Eris. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


101 


rratus  gave  us  the  cerebral  nerves  and 
Ihe  milk  vessels ;  nay,  more,  he  was 
the  inventor  of  lithotomy,  whatever 
you  may  say.  Then  came  another, 
whom  I  forget ;  you  do  somewhat 
perturb  me  with  your  petty  excep- 
tions. Then  came  Ammonius,  the 
author  of  lithotrity,  and  here  comes 
Hans,  with  the  basin,  —  to  stay  your 
volubility.  Blow  thy  chafer,  boy, 
and  hand  me  the  basin ;  't  is  weil. 
Arabians,  quotha !  What  are  they 
but  a  sect  of  yesterday,  who,  about 
the  year  1000,  did  fall  in  with  the 
writings  of  those  very  Greeks,  and 
read  them  awry,  having  no  concur- 
rent light  of  their  own  ?  for  their  dem- 
igod, and  camel-driver,  Mahound,  im- 
postor in  science  as  in  religion,  had 
strictly  forbidden  them  anatoin}^  even 
of  the  lower  animals,  the  which  he 
who  severeth  from  medicine  "  tol- 
lit  solem  e  mundo,"  as  Tally  quoth. 
Nay,  wonder  not  at  my  fervor,  good 
youth.  Where  the  general  weal 
stands  in  jeopardy,  a  little  warmth 
is  civic,  humane,  and  honorable  ;  now 
there  is  settled  of  late  in  this  town  a 
pestilent  Arabist,  a  mere  empiric,  who, 
despising  anatomy,  and  scarce  know- 
ing Greek  from  Hebrew,  hath  yet 
spirited  away  half  my  patients,  and 
I  tremble  for  the  rest.  Put  forth 
thine  ankle  ;  and  thou,  Hans,  breathe 
on  the  chafer." 

Whilst  matters  were  in  this  pos- 
ture, in  came  Denys  with  the  lemons, 
and  stood  surprised.  "  What  sport 
is  toward  ? "  said  he,  raising  his 
brows. 

Gerard  colored  a  little,  and  told  him 
the  learned  doctor  was  going  to  phle- 
botomize him  and  cauterize  him ;  that 
was  all. 

"Ay!  indeed;  and  yon  imp,  Avhat 
bloweth  he  hot  coals  for  ? " 

"  What  should  it  be  for,"  said  the 
doctor  to  Gerard,  "but  to  cauterize 
the  vein  when  opened,  and  the  poison- 
ous blood  let  free  ?  'T  is  the  only  safe 
way.  Avicenna,  indeed,  recommends 
a  ligature  of  the  vein ;  but  how  't  is 
to  be  done  he  saith  not,  nor  knew  he 
himself,  I  wot,  nor  any  of  the  spawn 


of  Ishmael.  For  me,  I  have  no  faith 
in  such  tricksy  expedients ;  and  take 
this  with  you  for  a  safe  principle,  — 
'  Whatever  an  Arab  or  Arabist  says  is 
right  must  be  wrong.' " 

"  O,  I  see  now  what 't  is  for,"  said 
Denys ;  "  and  art  thou  so  simple  as  to 
let  him  put  hot  iron  to  thy  living 
flesh  ?  didst  ever  keep  thy  little  finger 
but  ten  moments  in  a  candle  ?  and 
this  will  be  as  many  minutes.  Art 
not  content  to  burn  in  purgatory  after 
thy  death  ?  must  thou  needs  buy  a 
foretaste  on  't  here  ?  " 

"  I  never  thought  of  that,"  said 
Gerard,  gravely ;  "  the  good  doctor 
spake  not  of  burning,  but  of  cautery ; 
to  be  sure  't  is  all  one,  but  cautery 
sounds  not  so  fearful  as  burning." 

"  Imbecile  !  That  is  their  art ;  to 
confound  a  plain  man  with  dark 
words,  till  his  hissing  flesh  lets  him 
know  their  meaning.  Now  listen  to 
what  I  have  seen.  When  a  soldier 
bleeds  from  a  wound  in  battle,  these 
leeches  say,  '  Fever.  Blood  him  !  * 
and  so  they  burn  the  wick  at  t'other 
end  too.  They  bleed  the  bled.  Now, 
at  fever's  heels  comes  desperate  weak- 
ness ;  then  the  man  needs  all  his  blood 
to  live ;  but  tliese  prickers  and  burn- 
ers, having  no  forethought,  recking 
naught  of  what  is  sure  to  come  in  a 
few  hours,  and  seeing  like  brute  beasts 
only  what  is  under  their  noses,  have 
meantime  robbed  him  of  the  A-ery 
blood  his  hurt  had  spared  him  to  bat- 
tle that  weakness  withal ;  and  so  he 
dies  exhausted.  Hundreds  have  I  seen 
so  scratched  and  pricked  out  of  the 
world,  Gerard,  and  tall  fellows  too ; 
but  lo !  if  they  have  the  luck  to  be 
wounded  where  no  doctor  can  be  had, 
then  they  live;  this  too  have  I  seen. 
Had  I  ever  outlived  that  field  in  Bra- 
bant but  for  my  most  lucky  mischance, 
lack  of  chirurgery "?  The  frost  choked 
all  my  bleeding  wounds,  and  so  I  lived. 
A  chirurgeon  had  pricked  yet  one 
more  hole  in  this  my  body  with  his 
lance,  and  drained  my  last  drop  out, 
and  my  spirit  with  it.  Seeing  them 
thus  distraught  in  bleeding  of  the 
bleeding  soldier,  I  place  no  trust  in 


102 


THE   CLOISTKF:    ANT)   TIIK   IIKARTFI, 


them  ;  fur  wliat  slays  a  veteran  may 
wi'll  lay  a  iiiilk-aiid-watc'r  Ixjurj^eois 
low." 

"  This  soiiiids  like  common  sense," 
(ii;;lii'<l  (lerard,  lan;:ui(lly,  "but  no 
nii<l  ti>  rai>.e  your  voice  »o  ;  I  was  not 
horn  deaf,  and  just  now  I  liear 
acutely." 

"  Common  sense !  very  common 
sense  incleed,"  shouted  the  had  lis- 
teiH  r  ;  ■'  w  liy,  this  is  a  xojdier  ;  a  hrute 
whose  husincss  is  to  kill  men,  not  cure 
them."  He  added,  in  very  tolerable 
French,  "  \\\>c  l>e  to  yon,  uidenmed 
iniiM,  if  you  tome  U'tween  a  physician 
and  his  ]uitient !  and  wi>e  lie  to  you, 
iiii^;;nided  youth,  if  you  listen  to  tliat 
mill  of  hjiMid  !  " 

".Much  ohli;;u4l,"  said  Denys,  with 
m<M-k  ]>oliteness ;  "  hut  I  am  n  true 
man,  and  would  roh  no  man  of  his 
name.  I  do  .somewhat  in  the  way  of 
hJiMMlin^,  hut  not  worth  mentioii  in 
this  i)rescnce.  For  one  I  slav,  vou 
slay  a  >.core  ;  and  for  one  s|i«M>iifuI  of 
hlood  1  draw,  ynii  spill  a  tuhful.  The 
world  is  still  ).'ullcd  hy  show.s.  We 
soldiers  vaj)or  with  lonj;  swords,  and 
even  in  war  lH';;et  two  f<H's  for  every 
one  we  kill ;  hut  you  sm<M>th  (gowns- 
men with  soft  phrases  and  hare  l)od- 
kins,  't  is  vou  that  thin  mankind." 

"  A  sick-chaniU-r  is  no  place  for 
jestinp,"  cried  the  physician. 

"  No,  diH'tor,  nor  for  hawlinj;,"  .said 
the  jiatient,  peevishly. 

"  Come,  yoiin;;  man,"  sai<l  the  .sen- 
ior, kindly  ;  "1)0  rea.sonahle !  C'uili- 
het  in  sua  arte  credendum  est.  My 
whole  life  has  heen  ^iven  to  this  art. 
I  stndii'd  at  MontjK'lier,  the  (irst 
school  in  France,  and  hy  consinpience 
in  Europe.  There  learned  I  Driri- 
mancy,  Scatomancy,  I'atholo'_'y,  The- 
rapeusis,  and,  {greater  than  them  all, 
Anatomy.  For  there  we  disci])les  of 
Hippocrates  and  (Jalen  had  opiM)rtu- 
iiities  those  Lircat  ancients  never  knew, 
(iood  hy,  quadrupeds  and  ajn-s  and 
Pau'anism  and  .Mohammedanism  ;  we 
ItouL'ht  of  the  chtirch-wardens,  we 
sh<M)k  the  jrallows;  we  iiiKlid  the  sex- 
ton's work  o'  <lark  iiiirlits,  ]»netrated 
witli  love  of  science  and  our  kind;  all 


the  authorities  had  their  orders  from 
I'aris  to  wink ;  and  tliey  winked 
(iixls  iif  Olympus,  how  they  winked! 
The  ;:racious  kin;;  assisted  u^ ;  he  sent 
us  twice  a  vcar  a  livin;;  criminal  con- 
demne<l  to  die,  and  said,  '  Deal  ve  with 
him  iLs  scit'iice  asks  :  dissect  hirii  alive, 
if  ye  tliink  tit.'  " 

"  Hy  the  liver  of  Herod,  and  Nero'* 
Itowels.  he  'II  make  me  hlnsli  for  the 
land  that  Inirc  me,  an'  if  he  prais<'S  it 
any  mon,"  shouted  Denys,  at  the  top 
of  his  voice. 

Civrard  ^'avc  a  little  squawk,  and 
j)Ut  his  fuiirers  in  his  ears ;  hut  siieed- 
dy  tlrew  them  lait,  and  shouteti  an- 
prily  anil  as  loudlv,  "  Vou  ^'reat,  roar- 
in;:,  I'lasphemin;;  Villi  of  liiL-han,  hold 
your  noi.sy  ton^'ue  !  " 

Denys  summoned  a  contrite  look. 

"  Tush,  slight  man,"  said  the  di>c- 
tor,  with  calm  contempt,  and  vihrat«.d 
a  hand  over  him  as  in  this  up>  men 
nniiwe  a  |M>inier  do;;  down-charpe, 
then  lloweil  majestic  on.  "  We  fcI- 
<|(>m,  or  never,  dis.s<eted  the  li\,n(j 
eriminal,  except  iti  part.  We  mostly 
iiUM-ulated  them  with  such  di.seusea  a.s 
the  barren  time  aflorded,  .seleetinp,  of 
course,  the  mon-  iiitirestinu  ones." 

"  That  means  the  foulest,"  whis- 
jRTed  Denys,  meekly. 

"  The.se  we  watched  through  all 
their  stages  to  maturity." 

"  Meanin;;  the  death  of  the  poor 
rof^ne,"  whisju-rcd  Denys,  meekly. 

"  And  now,  my  p<xir  sufTcrcr,  who 
In-st  merits  your  confidence,  this  hon- 
est soldier  with  his  youth,  his  i;rno- 
rance  and  his  jirejudiccs,  or  a  K^ay- 
Uanl  liiden  with  the  gathered  wis- 
dom of  a;:es  ? '' 

"  That  is,"  cried  Denys,  impa- 
tiently, "will  you  believe  what  a  jack- 
daw in  a  long  trown  has  heard  from  a 
starlin;;  in  a  Ion;;  gown,  who  heard  it 
from  a  jay-{)ie,  wlio  heard  it  from  a 
magj)ie,  who  heard  it  from  a  popin- 
jay '.  or  will  you  believe  wliat  I,  a  man 
with  natiL'ht  to  gain  by  looking  awrv' 
nor  speaking  false,  have  seen,  —  not 
heard  with  the  ears  which  arc  given 
us  to  ;:ull  us,  but  seen  with  these  sen- 
tinels mine  cyne,  seen,  seen,  —  to  wit, 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


103 


that  fevered  and  blooded  men  die,  that 
fevered  men  not  blooded  live?  stay, 
who  sent  for  this  sangsue!  Did 
you  ?  " 

"Not  I.     I  thought  you  had." 

"  Nay,"  explained  the  doctor,  "  the 
good  landlord  told  me  one  was  '  down ' 
in  his  house ;  so  I  said  to  mj-self,  '  A 
stranger,  and  in  need  of  my  art,'  and 
came  incontinently." 

"  It  was  the  act  of  a  good  Chris- 
tian, sir." 

"  Of  a  good  bloodhound,"  cried 
Denys,  contemptuously.  "  \VTiat,  art 
thou  so  green  as  not  to  know  tliat  all 
these  landlords  are  in  league  with 
certain  of  their  fellow-citizens,  who 
pay  them  toll  on  each  booty  ?  What- 
ever you  pay  this  ancient  for  stealing 
your  life-blood,  of  that  the  landlord 
takes  his  third  for  betraying  you  to 
him.  Nay,  more,  as  soon  as  ever 
your  blood  goes  down  the  stair  in  that 
basin  there,  the  landlord  will  see  it  or 
smell  it,  and  send  swiftly  to  his  un- 
dertaker, and  get  his  third  out  of  that 
job.  For  if  he  waited  till  the  doctor 
got  down  stairs,  the  doctor  would  be 
beforehand  and  bespeak  his  under- 
taker, and  then  he  would  get  the  black 
thirds.  Say  I  sooth,  old  Rouge  et 
Noir  ?  dites  !  " 

"  Denys,  Denys,  who  taught  you 
to  think  so  ill  of  man  1  " 

"  Mine  eyes,  that  are  not  to  be 
gulled  by  what  men  say,  seeing  this 
many  a  year  what  they  do,  in  all  the 
lands  I  travel." 

The  doctoi-,  with  some  address,  made 
use  of  these  last  words  to  escape  the 
personal  question.  "  I  too  have  eyes 
as  well  as  thou,  and  go  not  by  tradi- 
tion only,  but  by  what  I  have  seen, 
and  not  only  seen  but  done.  I  have 
healed  as  many  men  by  bleeding  as 
that  interloping  Arabist  has  killed 
for  want  of  it.  'T  was  but  t'other 
day  I  healed  one  threatened  with  lep- 
rosy ;  I  but  bled  him  at  the  tip  of  the 
nose.  I  cured  last  year  a  quartan 
ague  ;  how  ?  bled  its  forefinger.  Our 
cure  lost  his  memory.  I  brought  it 
him  back  on  the  point  of  my  lance ; 
I  bled  him  behind  the  ear.  I  bled  a 
5* 


dolt  of  a  boy,  and  now  he  is  the  only 
one  who  can  tell  his  right  hand  from 
his  left  in  a  whole  family  of  idiots. 
When  the  plague  was  here  years  ago, 
—  no  sham  plague,  such  as  empirics 
proclaim  every  six  years  or  so,  but 
the  good,  honest,  Byzantine  pest,  —  I 
blooded  an  alderman  freely,  and  cau- 
terized the  S}Tnptomatic  buboes,  and  so 
pulled  him  out  of  the  grave  ;  whereas 
our  then  chirurgeon,  a  most  pernicious 
Arabist,  caught  it  himself,  and  died  of 
it,  aha  !  calling  on  Rhazes,  Avicenna, 
and  Mahound,  who,  could  they  have 
come,  had  all  perished  as  miserably 
as  himself." 

"  0  ray  poor  ears !  "  sighed  Gerard. 

"  And  am  I  fallen  so  low  that  one 
of  your  presence  and  speech  ri  I'-ets 
my  art,  and  listens  to  a  rude  soldier, 
so  far  behind  even  his  own  miserable 
trade  as  to  bear  an  arbalest,  a  worn- 
out  invention,  that  German  children 
shoot  at  pigeons  with,  but  German 
soldiers  mock  at  since  ever  arque- 
busses  came  and  put  them  down  ?  " 

"  You  foul-mouthed  old  charlatan," 
cried  Denys,  "  the  arbalest  is  shoul- 
dered by  taller  men  than  ever  stood 
in  Rhenish  hose,  and  even  now  it 
kills  as  many  more  than  your  noisy, 
stinking  arquebuss,  as  the  lancet  does 
than  all  our  toys  together.  Go  to  ! 
He  was  no  fool  who  first  called  you 
"  leeches."     Sangsues  !  va  !  " 

Gerard  groaned.  "  By  the  Holy 
Virgin,  I  wish  you  were  both  at  Jeri- 
cho, bellowing !  " 

"  Thank  you,  comrade.  Then  I  '11 
bark  no  more,  but  at  need  I  '11  bite. 
If  he  has  a  lance,  I  have  a  sword  ;  if 
he  bleeds  you,  I  '11  bleed  him.  The 
moment  his  lance  pricks  your  skin, 
little  one,  my  sword-hilt  knocks 
against  his  ribs  ;  I  have  said  it." 

And  Denys  turned  pale,  folded  his 
arms,  and  looked  gloomy  and  danger- 
ous. 

Gerard  sighed  wearily.  "  Now,  as 
all  this  is  about  me,  give  me  leave  to 
say  a  word." 

"  Ay !  let  the  young  man  choose 
life  or  death  for  himself." 

Gerard  then  indirectly  rebuked  his 


104 


THK   CLOISTER   AND   THK   UKAKTH. 


noisy  counsellors  \>y  contrast  and  cx- 
ttn)|ilc.  He  .s|i4)ke  witli  iin|>arnllcled 
culiiini'ss,  swi-ftnuss,  and  ;;i.-iitlcncss. 
And  these  were  the  words  of  tierard 
tlie  son  of  Kli  :  "  1  douht  not  you  both 
mean  me  well ;  hut  you  assassiiuitc 
nie  U'tween  you.  Calmness  and  (juiet 
an*  everything  to  mc  ;  hut  you  are 
like  two  dojfs  jjrowlin;;  over  a  Ikhk'. 

"  And,  in  sooth,  lx)ne  I  should  Ik.-, 
did  this  u|)r(mr  last  Inn;,'." 

There  was  a  dead  silence,  broken 
onlv  hy  the  silverj-  voice  of  (ierard, 
as  lie  lay  tran<iuil,  and  (;a7.ed  calm- 
ly at  the  ceiling,  and  trickled  into 
words. 

"  First,  venerable  sir,  I  thank  you 
for  coming;  to  see  ine,  whether  from 
humaiiitv,  or  in  the  way  of  honest 
gain  ;  all  trades  must  live. 

"  Your  learnin).',  reverend  sir,  sccm.s 
great,  to  mc  at  least,  and  for  your  cx- 
|»eriem-c,  your  age  voucheth  it. 

"  You  say  you  have  bled  many, 
and  of  these  many,  many  have  not 
dieil  thereafter,  but  lived,  and  done 
well.     I   must  needs  Ijclievo  you." 

The  physician  Iwwcd.  Dcnys 
grunted. 

"Others  you  say  you  have  bled, 
and  —  they  arc  dead.  I  must  needs 
believe  you. 

"  Denys  knows  few  things  com- 
I)ared  with  you,  but  he  knows  them 
well,  lie  is  a  nnm  not  given  to  con- 
jecture. This  I  myself  have  noted. 
lie  siiys  he  has  seen  the  fevere<l  and 
bliKMled  for  the  most  part  <lic;  the 
fevered  and  not  blootled  live.  I  must 
needs  l)clievc  him. 

"  Here,  then,  all  is  doubt. 

"  But  thi.s  much  is  certain  ;  if  I  be 
bled,  I  must  pay  yon  a  fee,  and  !« 
burnt  and  excruciated  with  u  hot 
iron,  who  am  no  felon. 

"  I'ay  a  certain  price  in  money  and 
anguish  for  a  doubtful  remedy,  that 
will  I  never. 

"  Next  to  money  and  ease,  peace 
and  quiet  are  certain  goods,  above  all 
iti  a  sick-room;  but 't  would  seem 
men  eannot  argue  medicine  without 
iiciic  and  raiseil  voices;  therefore,  sir, 
I  will  essay  a  little  sleep,  and  Denys 


will  go  forth  and  gaze  on  the  females 
of  the  place,  and  I  will  keep  you  no 
longer  from  those  who  can  ailord  to 
lay  out  blood  and  money  in  jihleliot- 
omv  and  cautery." 

The  old  physician  had  naturally  a 
hot  tenji»er  ;  he  luwl  often  during  this 
battle  of  words  mastered  it  with  difli- 
culty,  and  now  it  mastered  him.  The 
most  iligniticd  course  was  silence  ;  he 
saw  this,  and  dn-w  him.self  uji  and 
maile  loftily  for  the  d<H)r,  followed 
close  by  his  little  Imy  and  big  basket. 

But  at  the  door  he  chokeil,  he 
swelled,  he  burst.  He  whirled  and 
came  back  oiM-n-mouthed,  and  the  lit- 
tle bov  and  liig  basket  had  to  whisk 
>emii-ireularly  not  to  la'  run  down, 
for  </«•  tninimis  non  curat  Mtiliciua, — 
even  when  not  in  a  rage. 

"  Ah !  you  nject  my  skill,  yoa 
sconi  my  art.  My  revenge  shall  be 
to  leave  you  to  yourself;  lost  idiot, 
take  your  last  look  at  me  and  at  the 
sun.  Your  blood  be  on  your  head  !  " 
And  away  he  stamped. 

But  on  reaching  the  door  he  whirled 
and  came  back  ;  his  wicker  tail  twirl- 
ing round  after  him  like  a  cat's. 

"  In  twelve  hours  at  furthest  yon 
will  \x-  in  the  secondary  stage  of 
fever.  Your  head  will  sjilit  ;  your 
carotids  will  thump.  Aha  !  and  let 
but  a  ;)in  fall,  you  will  jump  to  the 
ceiling.  Then  send  for  me,  —  and 
I  "11  not  come."  He  departed.  But 
at  the  door-handle  gathered  fury, 
wheele<l,  and  came  flying  with  pale, 
terror-stricken  l>oy  ami  wicker  tail 
whiskinj;  after  him.  "  Next  will  come 
—CK AMI'S  of  the  STOMACH. 
Aha ! 

"Then  —  BILIOUS  VOMIT. 
Aha! 

"Then  — COLD  SWEAT,  and 
DEADLY   STUl'OR. 

"  Then— CONFUSION  OF  ALL 
THE   SENSES. 

"  Then  —  BLOODY   VOMIT. 

"And  after  that  nothing  can  save 
you,  not  even  I ;  and  if  I  conld  I 
would  not,  and  so  farewell ! " 

Even  Denys  changed  color  at 
threats  so  fervent  and  precise;    bnt 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


105 


Gerard  only  gnashed  his  teeth  with 
rage  at  the  noise,  and  seized  his  hard 
bolster  with  kindling  eye. 

This  added  fuel  to  the  fire,  and 
brought  the  insulted  ancient  back 
from  the  impassable  door,  with  his 
wliiskinff  train. 

"  And  after  that  —  MADNESS  ! 

"  And  after  that  —  BLACK  VOM- 
IT ! 

"  And  then  —  CONVULSIONS  ! 

"  And  then  —  THAT  CESSA- 
TION OF  ALL  VITAL  FUNC- 
TIONS THE  VULGAK  CALL 
'  DEATH,'  for  which  thank  your 
own  Satanic  folly  and  insolence ;  fare- 
well." He  went.  He  came.  He 
roared  :  "  And  think  not  to  be  buried 
in  any  Christian  churchyard  :  for  the 
bailiff'  is  my  good  friend,  and  I  shall 
tell  him  how  and  why  you  died  ;  felo 
de  se !  felo  de  se  !    Farewell." 

Gerard  sprang  to  his  feet  on  the 
bed  by  some  supernatural  gymnastic 
power  excitement  lent  him,  and,  see- 
ing him  so  moved,  the  vindictive  ora- 
tor came  back  at  him  fiercer  than 
ever,  to  launch  some  master-threat 
the  world  has  unhappily  lost ;  for  as 
he  came  with  his  whisking  train,  and 
shaking  his  fist,  Gerard  hurled  the 
bolster  furiously  in  his  foce  and 
knocked  him  down  like  a  shot ;  the 
boy's  head  cracked  under  his  falling 
master's,  and  crash  went  the  dumb- 
stricken  orator  into  the  basket,  and 
there  sat  wedged  in  an  inverted  angle, 
crushing  phial  after  phial.  The  boy, 
being  light,  was  strewed  afar,  but  in 
a  squatting  posture  ;  so  that  they  sat 
in  a  sequence  like  graduated  speci- 
mens, the  smaller  howling.  But  soon 
the  doctor's  face  filled  with  horror, 
and  he  uttered  a  far  louder  and  un- 
earthly screech,  and  kicked  and  strug- 
gled with  wonderful  agility  for  one  of 
his  age. 

He  was  sitting  on  the  hot  coals. 

They  had  singed  the  cloth  and 
were  now  biting  the  man.  Strug- 
gling wildly  but  vainly  to  get  out  of 
the  basket,  he  I'olled  yelling  over  with 
it  sideways,  and  lo  !  a  great  hissing  ; 
then    the   humane  Gerard    ran    and 


^VTenched  off  the  tight  basket,  not 
wathout  a  struggle.  The  doctor  lay 
on  his  face  groaning,  handsomely 
singed  with  his  own  chafer,  and 
slaked  a  moment  too  late  by  his  own. 
villanous  compounds ;  which,  how- 
ever, being  as  various  and  even  beau- 
tiful in  color  as  they  wci"e  odious  in 
taste,  had  strangely  diversified  his 
gray  robe,  and  painted  it  more  gaudy 
than  neat. 

Gerard  and  Denys  raised  him  up 
and  consoled  him.  "  Courage,  man, 
't  is  but  cautery  ;  balm  of  Gilead ; 
why,  you  recommended  it  but  now  to 
my  comrade  here." 

The  physician  replied  only  by  a 
look  of  concentrated  spite,  and  went 
out  in  dead  silence,  thrusting  his 
stomach  forth  before  him  in  the  droll- 
est way.  The  boy  followed  him  next 
moment,  but  in  that  slight  inter- 
val he  left  off  M'hining,  burst  in  a 
grin,  and  conveyed  to  the  culprits 
by  an  unrefined  gesture  his  accu- 
rate comprehension  of  and  rapturous 
though  compressed  joy  at  his  mas- 
ter's disaster. 


CHAPTER  XXVn. 

The  worthy  physician  went  home 
and  told  his  housekeeper  he  was  in 
agony  from  "  a  bad  burn."  Those 
w^ere  the  words.  For  in  phlogis- 
tic, as  in  other  tilings,  we  cauter- 
ize our  neighbor's  digits,  but  burn 
our  own  fingers.  His  housekeeper 
applied  some  old  woman's  remedy, 
mild  as  milk.  He  submitted  like  a 
lamb  to  her  experience  :  his  sole  ob- 
ject in  the  case  of  this  patient  being 
cure  ;  meantime  he  made  out  his  bill 
for  broken  phials,  and  took  measures 
to  have  the  travellers  imprisoned  at 
once.  He  made  oath  before  a  magis- 
trate that  they,  being  strangers  and 
indebted  to  him,  meditated  instaiit 
fiiglit  from  the  township. 

Alas  !  it  was  his  unlucky  day-  His 
sincere  desire  and  honest  endeavor 
to  perjure  himself  were  baffled  by  a 


lOG 


TH1-:   CLOISTER   AND    THK   IIKARTH. 


circunistnncc  he  had  nc\-er  foreseen 
iior  indeed  thoiij,dit  possible. 

He  iiad  sjiokeii  tin-  truth. 

And  IN  AN  AFFIDAVIT! 

The  ortieiTs,  on  reaeliinj:  the  Silver 
Lion,  found  the  birds  were  flown. 

They  went  down  to  the  river,  and, 
from  intelli>,'enie  they  received  there, 
started  up  the  hank  in  hot  pursuit. 

'J'his  tenij)(ir:iry  e>e:ipe  the  friends 
owcil  to  Deny.^'s  ;,'Ood  .sense  and  nbser- 
viition.  After  ii  peal  of  luu;,'hter  that 
it  wa.s  a  eordial  to  hear,  iind  after 
venting  his  watchword  three  times, 
he  turned  short  ^;rave,  ami  tohl  Ge- 
rard Dusseldorf  was  nf)  place  for  them. 
"That  old  fellow,"  said  he.  "went 
riff  unnaturally  silent  for  such  a  bah- 
bler  ;  we  are  stran;,'ers  here  ;  the  Ixtilijf 
is  his  J'riiHil ;  in  five  minutes  we  shall 
lie  in  a  ilun;;eon  for  a.ssaultinp  a 
Dusseldorf  di;;nity  ;  arc  you  stronjj 
enoui^h  to  hobble  to  the  water's  edf^o  >. 
it  is  hard  by.  Once  tliere,  you  have 
hut  to  lie  down  in  a  lK>at  instead  of  a 
lied  ;  and  what  is  the  odds  '.  " 

"  The  odds,  Deiivs  ?  untold,  and 
nil  in  favor  of  the  lioat.  I  pine  for 
Home  ;  for  Kome  is  my  road  to  Sev- 
cnlK'r;;en  ;  and  then  we  shall  lie  in 
the  lM)at,  hut  ox  the  lihine,  the  fa- 
mous Kliinc ;  the  cool,  refreshin>: 
Khinc.  I  feel  its  brt-ezes  cominij;  the 
very  si;:ht  will  cure  a  little  ho{>-o'- 
my-thumb  fever  like  mine.  Away  ! 
away  !  " 

Findin;r  his  exritahle  friend  in  this 
mood,  Denys  settled  hastily  with  the 
landlord,  and  they  hurried  to  the 
river.  On  inipiiry,  they  found  to  their 
distnay  that  the  public  boat  was  pone 
this  half-hour,  and  no  other  would 
start  that  day,  l)einfr  afternoon,  liy 
dint,  however,  of  asking  a  great  many 
questions,  and  eolleetinfr  a  crow(l, 
they  obtained  an  otter  of  a  private 
lH)at  from  an  old  man  and  his  two 
sons. 

This  was  duly  ridiculed  by  a  by- 
stander. "  The  current  is  too  strong 
for  three  oars." 

"  Then  my  comrade  and  I  will  help 
row,"  said  the  invalid. 


"  No  nce<l,"  said  the  old  man. 
"  Bless  your  silly  heart,  lie  owns 
t'other  boat." 

There  was  a  powerful  breeze  right 
astern  ;  the  boatmen  set  a  broad  sail, 
and,  rowing  also,  went  oft"  at  a  spank- 
ing rate. 

"Are  ve  Uttir,  la<l,  for  the  nver 
breeze  ?  '^ 

'•  Much  Utter.  Rut,  indeetl,  the 
diK'tor  did  me  giiod." 

"  The  diKtor  i  Why,  you  would 
none  of  his  cures." 

"  No,  but  I  mean  — you  will  say  I 
am  naught,  —  but  knocking  the  old 
ftK)l  down  —  somehow  —  it  soothed 
me." 

"  Amiable  dove  !  how  thy  little 
character  opens  more  and  more  every 
day,  like  a  rosebud.  1  read  thee  all 
wrong  at  first." 

"  Nay,  Denys,  mistake  me  not, 
neither.  I  trust  I  had  Ixjrne  with  hi.4 
idle  threats,  though  in  sooth  his  voice 
went  through  my  poor  ears;  hut  he 
was  an  intiilcl,  or  luxt  door  to  one, 
and  such  I  have  U'tn  taught  to  abhor. 
Did  he  not  as  good  ns  say  we  owed 
our  inwanl  parts  to  men  with  long 
Greek  names,  and  not  to  Ilim  whoso 
name  is  but  a  syllable,  but  whose 
hand  is  over  all  the  earth  ?    I'agan  I  " 

"  So  you  knocked  him  down  forth- 
with,—  like  a  good  (""hristian." 

"  Now,  Di'uys,  you  will  still  1h' 
jesting.  Take  not  an  ill  man's  part  ! 
Had  it  lieen  a  thnnderlK)lt  from 
heaven,  he  had  nu't  but  his  due  ;  vet 
he  took  but  a  sorry  bolster  from  t^is 
Weak  arm." 

"  What  weak  arm  ?  "  inquired 
Denys,  with  twinkling  eyes.  "  I  have 
lived  among  anns,  and,  by  Samson's 
hairy  pow,  never  saw  I  one  more  like 
a  catapult.  The  bolster  wrapjx^i 
round  his  nose,  and  the  two  ends 
ki.vsed  behind  his  head,  and  his  fore- 
head resounded,  and  had  he  been 
Goliah,  or  Julius  C;esar,  instead  of  an 
old  quacksalver,  down  he  had  gone. 
St.  Denys  guard  me  from  such  fee- 
ble opjKjsites  as  thou  !  and,  above  all, 
from  their  weak  amis  —  thou  diaboli 
cal  young  hypocrite." 


THE  CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


107 


The  river  took  many  turns,  and 
this  sometimes  brought  the  wind  on 
their  side  instead  of  ri<;-ht  astern. 
Then  they  all  moved  to  the  weather 
side  to  prevent  the  boat  hcelint;  over 
too  much ;  all  but  a  child  of  about 
five  years  old,  the  grandson  of  the 
boatman,  and  his  darling ;  this  urchin 
had  slipped  on  board  at  the  moment 
of  starting,  and,  being  too  light  to 
affect  the  boat's  trim,  was  above,  or 
rather  below,  the  laws  of  naviga- 
tion. 

They  sailed  merrily  on,  little  con- 
scious that  they  were  pursued  by 
a  whole  posse  of  constables,  armed 
with  the  bailiff's  writ,  and  that  their 
pursuers  were  coming  up  with  them ; 
for,  if  the  wind  was  strong,  so  was 
the  current. 

And  now  Gerard  suddenly  remem- 
bered that  this  was  a  very  good  way 
to  Rome,  but  not  to  Burgundy.  "  O 
Denys,"  said  he,  with  an  almost 
alarmed  look,  "  this  is  not  your 
road." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Denys,  quietly. 
"  But  what  can  I  do  ?  I  cannot  leave 
thee  till  the  fever  leaves  thee :  and 
't  is  on  thee  still ;  for  thou  art  both 
red  and  white  in  turns ;  I  have  watched 
thee  :  I  must  e'en  go  on  to  Cologne, 
I  doubt,  and  theii  strike  across." 

"  Thank  Heaven,"  said  Gerard, 
joyfully.  He  added  eagerly,  with  a 
little  touch  of  self-deception,  "  'T  were 
a  sin  to  be  so  near  Cologne,  and  not 
see  it.  O  man,  it  is  a  vast  and 
ancient  city,  such  as  I  have  often 
dreamed  of,  but  ne'er  had  the  good 
hick  to  see.  Me  miserable,  by  what 
hard  fortune  do  I  come  to  it  now ! 
Well  then,  Denys,"  continued  the 
young  man,  less  warmly,  "  it  is  old 
enough  to  have  been  founded  by  a 
Roman  lady  in  the  first  century  of 
grace,  and  sacked  by  Attila  the  bar- 
barous, and  afterwards  sore  defaced 
by  the  Norman  Lothaire.  And  it  has 
a  church  for  every  week  in  the  year, 
forbye  chapels  and  churches  innumer- 
able of  convents  and  nunneries,  and, 
above  all,  the  stupendous  minster  yet 
unfinished   and  therein,  but  in  their 


own  chapel,  lie  the  three  kings  that 
brought  gifts  to  our  Lord  ;  Melchior 
gold,  and  Gasper  frankincense,  and 
Balthazar  the  l)lack  king,  he  brought 
myrrh  ;  and  over  their  bones  stands 
the  shrine,  the  wonder  of  the  world. 
It  is  of  ever-shining  brass,  brighter 
than  gold,  studded  with  images  fairly 
wrought,  and  inlaid  with  exquisite 
devices  and  brave  with  colors,  and 
two  broad  stripes  run  to  and  fro,  of 
jewels  so  great,  so  rare,  each  might 
adorn  a  crown  or  ransom  its  wearer 
at  need;  and  upon  it  stand  the  three 
kings  curiously  counterfeited,  two  in 
solid  silver  richly  gilt ;  these  be  bare- 
headed ;  but  he  of  ^thiop  ebony,  and 
bearetli  a  golden  crown  :  and  in  the 
midst  our  Blessed  Lady  in  virgin  sil- 
ver, with  Christ  in  her  arms  ;  and  at 
the  comers,  in  golden  branches,  four 
goodly  waxen  tapers  to  burn  night 
and  day.  Holy  eyes  have  watched 
and  renewed  that  light  unceasingly 
for  ages,  and  holy  eyes  shall  watch 
them  in  scvcula.  I  tell  thee,  Denys, 
the  oldest  song,  the  oldest  Flemish  or 
German  legend,  foulid  them  burning, 
and  they  shall  light  the  earth  to  its 
grave.  And  there  is  St.  Ursel's 
church,  a  British  saint's,  where  lie 
her  bones  and  all  the  other  virgins, 
her  fellows  :  eleven  thousand  were 
they  who  died  for  the  faith,  being  put 
to  "the  sword  by  barbarous  Moors  on 
the  twenty-third  day  of  October,  two 
hundred  and  thirty-eight ;  their  bones 
are  piled  in  the  vaults,  and  many  of 
their  skulls  are  in  the  church.  St. 
Ursel's  is  in  a  thin  golden  case,  and 
stands  on  the  high  altar,  but  shown 
to  humble  Christians  only  on  solemn 
days." 

''  Eleven  thousand  virgins  !  "  cried 
Denys.  "  TNHiat  babies  German  men 
must  have  been  in  days  of  yore. 
Well :  would  all  their  bones  might 
turn  flesh  again,  and  their  skulls  sweet 
faces,  as  we  pass  through  the  gates. 
'T  is  odds  but  some  of  them  are  wea- 
ried of  their  estate  by  this  time." 

"  Tush,  Denys  !  "  said  Gerard  ; 
"  why  wilt  thou,  being  good,  suA 
make  thyself  seem  evil  'i     If  thy  wish- 


108 


THK   CLOISTER    AND   Till:    IIKAIJTH. 


inj»  cap  be  on,  prnv  that  wc  may  meet 
the  imaiifst  slii-  of'  all  those  wise  vir- 
ifins  in  the  next  world ;  ami,  to  that 
end,  let  us  reven-nee  their  holv  dust 
in  this  one.  And  then  there  is  the 
ihureh  of  the  MaeeaU-es,  and  the  eal- 
ilron  in  which  thev  and  their  niotlier 
Soloniona  were  liuiled  hy  a  wicked 
kin^' for  refusin;;  to  eat  swine's  Hcsli." 

"  ()  iiereniptory  kin;;  !  anil  pi;;- 
iieaded  Nliiccuhces  !  I  had  eaten  hiieon 
with  my  i)ork,  licvcr  than  chan{,'e 
|>la<  cs  at  the  fire  with  my  meat." 

"  What  scnrvv  words  arc  these  ?  it 
was  their  faith.' 

"  Nay,  bridle  thy  eholer,  and  tell 
me,  are  there  nau;;ht  but  ehurehes  in 
this  thy  so  vaunted  city  t  For  I 
atleet  rather  Sir  Kiii<;ht  than  Sir 
Priest." 

"  Ay,  marry,  there  is  an  university 
near  a  hundred  years  old  ;  nnd  there 
is  a  market-place,  no  fairer  in  the 
world  ;  and  at  the  four  sides  of  it 
houses  f,'reat  as  palaces  ;  and  there  is 
a  stu[)endous  senate-house  all  covered 
with  imiii,'es,  and  at  the  head  of  them 
stands  one  of  stout  Herman  Gryn,  a 
soldier  like  thyself,  lad." 

"  Ay  !  Tell  me  of  him  !  what  feat 
of  arms  earned  him  his  niche  f  " 

"  A  rare  one.  He  slew  a  lion  in 
fair  combat,  with  nau^rht  but  his  cloak 
and  a  short  sword.  He  thrust  the 
cloak  in  the  l)rute's  mouth,  and  cut 
his  spine  in  twain,  and  there  is  the 
man's  effi;ry  and  eke  the  lion's  to  prove 
it.  The  like  was  never  done  but  by 
three  more,  I  ween  ;  Samson  was  one, 
and  Lysimachus  of  Macedon  another, 
and  Benaiah,  a  captain  of  David's 
host." 

"  .^^arry  !  three  tall  fellows.  I 
would  like  well  to  sup  with  them  all 
to-ni;;ht." 

"  So  would  not  I,"  said  Gerard, 
dryly. 

"  But  tell  me,"  said  Denys,  with 
some  surprise,  "  when  wast  thou  in 
Coloirne  ? " 

"  Xever,  but  in  the  spirit.  I  prattle 
with  the  pood  monks  by  the  way,  and 
thev  tell  me  all  the  notable  things, 
botli  old  and  new." 


"  Ay,  ay,  have  not  I  seen  your 
nose  \mder  their  very  cowls  ?  But 
when  I  sjK-ak  of  matters  that  are  out 
of  sipht,  my  words  they  arc  small, 
and  the  thinp  it  was  bip; ;  now  thy 
words  be  as  biy;  or  bijjt;er  than  the 
things  ;  art  a  good  limner  with  thy 
ton;.'ue ;  I  have  saiil  it:  anil,  for  a 
saint,  iLs  ready  with  hand,  or  steel,  or 
Ijolster,  —  a.s  any  pcxjr  sinner  livin;;; 
and  so,  shall  I  tell  thee  which  of  all 
these  thiii;;s  thou  hast  descrii)ed  draws 
me  to  Cologne  !  " 

"  Av,  Denys." 

"  Thou,  and  thou  only  ;  no  dead 
saint,  but  my  living  friend  and  com- 
rade true  ;  't  is  thou  alone  drawest 
Denys  of  Burgundy  to  Cologne." 

(Jerard  hung  his  head. 

At  this  juncture  one  of  the  younger 
boatmen  suildi-idy  in(|uircd  what  was 
amiss  with  ''  little  turui[i-face  "  ! 

His  young  nc|)hew  thus  described 
hail  just  come  aft  grave  as  a  judge, 
and  burst  out  crying  in  the  midst 
without  more  ado.  On  this  |ihcnome- 
non,  so  sharply  delined,  he  was  sub- 
jected to  many  interrogatories,  some 
coaxiiigly  uttered,  some  not.  Had 
he  hurt  himself/  had  he  overate 
himself  ?  wa.s  he  frightened  '.  was  he 
cold  '.  was  he  sick  .'  was  he  an 
idiot  ? 

To  all  and  each  he  uttered  the  same 
reply,  which  Knglish  writers  render 
thus,  oh  !  oh  !  oli !  and  French  writ- 
ers thus,  hi !  hi  !  hi !  So  tixed  arc 
Fiction's  phonetics. 

"  Who  can  tell  what  ails  tha  pee- 
vish brat !  "  snarled  the  young  boat- 
man, imj»aticntly.  "  Rather  lo<jk  this 
way,  and  tell  ine  whom  be  these  af- 
ter! "  The  old  man  and  his  other  son 
looked,  and  saw  four  men  walking 
along  the  east  bank  of  the  river;  at 
the  sight  they  left  rowing  awhile,  and 
gathered  mysteriously  in  the  stem, 
whispering,  and  casting  glances  alter- 
nately at  their  passengers  and  the 
pedestrians. 

The  sequel  may  show  they  would 
have  employed  speculation  better  in 
trying  to  fathom  the  turnip-face  mys- 
tery, —  I  beg  pardon   of  my  age,  I 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


109 


mean  "  the  deep  mind  of  dauntless  in- 
fancy." 

"  If  't  is  as  I  doubt,"  whispered 
one  of  the  young  men,  "  why  not 
give  them  a  squeak  for  tlieir  lives ; 
let  us  make  for  the  west  bank." 

The  old  man  objected  stoutly. 
"  What,"  said  he,  "  run  our  heads 
into  trouble  for  strangers  ?  arc  ye 
mad  1  Nay,  let  us  rather  cross  to  the 
east  side :  still  side  with  the  strong 
arm !  that  is  my  rede.  What  say 
you,  Werter  ?  " 

"  I  say,  please  yourselves." 

What  age  and  youth  could  not  de- 
cide upon,  a  puff  of  wind  settled  most 
impartially.  Came  a  squall,  and  the 
little  vessel  heeled  over ;  the  men 
jumped  to  windward  to  trim  her  ;  but, 
to  their  horror,  they  saw  in  the  very 
boat  from  stem  to  stern  a  ditch  of 
water  rushing  to  leeward,  and  the 
next  moment  they  saw  nothing,  but 
felt  the  Rhine  :  the  cold  and  rushing 
Rhine. 

"  Turnip-face  "  had  drawn  the  plug. 

Gerard  could  swim  like  a  duck ;  but 
the  best  swimmer,  canted  out  of  a 
boat  capsized,  must  sink  ere  he  can 
svnm.  The  dark  Avater  bubbled  loud- 
ly over  his  head,  and  then  he  came  up 
almost  blind  and  deaf  for  a  moment ; 
the  next  he  saw  the  black  boat  bot- 
tom uppei-most,  and  figures  clinging 
to  it ;  he  shook  his  head  like  a  water- 
dog  and  made  for  it  by  a  sort  of  un- 
thinking imitation  :  but  ere  he  reached 
it  he  heard  a  voice  behind  him  cry, 
not  loud,  but  with  deep  manly  distress, 
"  Adieu,  comrade,  adieu  !  " 

He  looked,  and  there  was  poor 
Denys  sinking,  sinking,  weighed  down 
by  his  wretched  arbalest.  His  face 
was  pale,  and  his  eyes  staring  wide, 
and  turned  despairingly  on  his  dear 
friend.  Gerard  uttered  a  wild  cry  of 
love  and  terror,  and  made  for  him, 
cleaving  the  water  madly ;  but  the 
next  moment  Denys  was  under  water. 

The  next,  Gerard  was  after  him. 

Things  good  and  evil  balance  them- 
selves in  a  remarkable  manner ;   and 


almost  universally.  The  steel  bow 
attached  to  the  arbalestrier's  back,  and 
carried  above  his  head,  had  sunk  him. 
That  verj'  steel  bow,  owing  to  that 
very  position,  could  not  escape  Ge- 
rard's hands,  one  of  which  grasped  it, 
and  the  other  went  between  the  bow 
and  the  cord,  which  was  as  good. 
The  next  moment  Dcnjs,  by  means 
of  his  cross-bow,  was  hoisted  with  so 
eager  a  jerk  that  half  his  body 
bobbed  up  out  of  water. 

"  Now,  grip  me  not !  grip  me  not !  " 
cried  Gerard,  in  mortal  terror  of  that 
fatal  mistake. 

"  Pas  si  bete,"  gurgled  Denys. 

Seeing  the  sort  of  stuff  he  had  to 
deal  with,  Gerard  was  hopeful  and 
calm  directly.  "  On  thy  back,"  said 
he,  sharply,  and  seizing  the  arbalest, 
and  taking  a  stroke  forward,  he  aided 
the  desired  movement.  "  Hand  on 
my  shoulder !  slap  the  water  with  the 
other  hand !  No  — with  a  downward 
motion  :  so.  Do  nothing  more  llian 
I  bid  thee."  Gerard  had  got  hold  of 
Denys's  long  hair,  and,  twisting  it 
hard,  caught  the  end  between  his  side 
teeth,  and  with  the  strong  muscles  of 
his  youthful  neck  easily  kept  uj)  the 
soldier's  head,  and  struck  out  lustily 
across  the  current.  A  moment  he 
had  hesitated  which  side  to  make  for, 
little  knowing  the  awful  importance 
of  that  simple  decision ;  then,  seeing 
the  west  bank  a  trifle  nearest,  he 
made  towards  it,  instead  of  swimming 
to  jail  like  a  good  boy,  and  so  furnish- 
ing one  a  novel  incident.  Owing  to 
the  force  of  the  current  they  slanted 
considerably,  and,  when  they  had  cov- 
ered near  a  hundred  yards,  Denys 
murmured,  xineasily,  "  How  much 
more  of  it  ?  " 

"  Courage,"  mumbled  Gerard. 
"  Wliatever  a  duck  knows,  a  Dutch- 
man knows ;  art  safe  as  in  a  bed." 

The  next  moment,  to  their  surprise, 
they  found  themselves  in  shallow 
water ;  and  so  waded  ashore.  Once 
on  terra  firma,  they  looked  at  one  an- 
other from  head  to  foot,  as  if  eyes 
could  devour,  then  by  one  impulse 
flung  each  an  arm  round  the  other's 


no 


THE   CLOISTF.n   AND    IHi;    HKAKTII. 


neck,  and  punted  tlicrc  witli  hetirts 
too  lull  to  spiak.  And  nt  tliis  sacrctl 
moment  life  was  swi-et  us  heuven  to 
botli ;  sweetest,  |ier)tups,  to  tlie  poor 
exiled  lover,  whi>  hud  just  saved  his 
friend.  ()  joy,  to  whosi-  hei;;ht  what 
[KHt  has  yit  soared,  or  ever  tried  to 
^uar  '  To  save  a  htitnan  life;  and 
lliat  life  u  loved  one.  Sneh  moments 
are  worth  livine;  for,  uv,  three.score 
years  and  ten.  And  then,  calmer, 
they  took  hands,  and  so  walked  alon^ 
tile  hank  like  a  pair  of  sweethearts, 
scarce  knowiii;,'  or  earinj^  whither 
they  went. 

The  l)oat  jK-ople  were  all  safe  on 
the  lute  concave,  now  convex,  craft, 
llerr  Turnip-face,  the  "Inverter  of 
thing's,"  Ik'ui;,'  in  the  middle.  All 
this  fracas  seemecl  not  to  have  es- 
sentially deran;;ed  his  habits.  At 
least  he  was  j;reetiny:  when  he  shot 
our  friends  into  the  Khine,  and  j^cet- 
in^  when  they  j,'ot  out  again. 

"  Shall  we  wait  till  they  right  the 
boat  ?  " 

"  No,  Denys,  our  fare  is  paid  ;  wc 
owe  them  min;;ht.  Let  us  on,  and 
briskly." 

Denys  assented,  observin;;  that  they 
coulil  walk  all  the  way  to  Colo;;ne  on 
this  bank. 

"  I  fare  not  to  Cologne,"  was  the 
calm  reply. 

"  Why,  wjiither  then  ?  " 

"  T«)  Hurgundy." 

"  'i'o  Burgundy  ?  Ah,  no  !  that  is 
too  good  to  be  sooth." 

•'  Sooth  't  is  ;  and  .sense  into  the 
bargain.  What  niatters  it  to  me 
how  I  go  to  Kome  ?  " 

"  Nay,  nay ;  you  but  say  so  to 
pleasure  me.  The  cimnge  is  too 
sudden ;  and  think  me  not  so  ill- 
hearted  as  to  take  you  at  your 
word.  Also  did  I  not  sec  your 
eyes  sparkle  at  the  wonders  of  Co- 
logne '.  —  the  churches,  the  images, 
the  u'lics  —  " 

"  IIow  dull  art  then,  Denys  !  that 
was  when  we  were  to  enjoy  them  to- 
gether. Churches  ;  I  shall  see  plenty, 
go  Romeward  how  I  will.    The  bones 


of  saint.s  and  martyrs  ;  alas  !  the  world 
is  full  of  them  :  but  a  (riciid  like  thee, 
where  on  earth's  face  ^hall  I  tind  an- 
other f  No,  I  will  not  turn  thee  further 
from  the  road  that  leads  to  thy  dear 
home  and  her  that  pines  for  thw. 
Neither  will  I  rob  myself  of  thee  by 
leavin;,'  thee.  Since  I  ilrew  tlii-e  out 
of  Kliino  I  love  thee  better  than  I 
did.  Thou  art  my  pearl ;  I  tished 
thee,  and  must  keep  thee.  So  gain- 
say roe  not,  or  thou  wilt  bring  biu-k 
my  fever  ;  but  crv  courage,  and  lead 
on  ;  and  hey  for  hurgundy  !" 

Denys  gave  a  jovful  caper.  "  Cour- 
age !  va  i)our  la  Hourgognc.  Oh ! 
soyez  tnuxpiille !  cctte  lois  il  est 
bien  de'ciilcmcnt  mort,  ce  coquin  lu." 
And  they  tunied  their  backs  on  tho 
Rhino. 

On  this  tlecision  making  itself  clear, 
across  the  Ivliine  there  was  a  commo- 
tion in  the  little  party  that  had  been 
watching  the  discussion,  and  the 
friends  had  not  taken  nuiiiy  steps 
ere  a  voice  came  to  them  over  the 
water.     "  HALT  !  " 

Gerard  turned,  and  saw  one  of  those 
four  holding  out  a  badge  of  otHce  and 
a  i)arcliment  sli|>.  Ilis  heart  saiik  ; 
for  he  was  a  giK)d  citizen,  and  used  to 
obey  the  voice  that  now  bade  him  turn 
again  to  Dusseldorf,  —  the  Law's. 

Denys  did  not  share  his  scruples. 
He  was  a  Frenchman,  and  despised 
every  other  nation,  —  laws,  inmates, 
and  customs  indudeil.  He  was  a 
soldier,  and  took  a  military  view  of 
the  situation.  Superior  force  o\>- 
j)osed ;  river  l)Ctween  ;  rear  open  ; 
why,  'twas  retreat  made  ea.sy.  He 
saw  at  a  glance  that  the  boat  still 
drifted  in  mid-stream,  and  there  was 
no  ferry  nearer  than  Dusseldorf  "  I 
shall  beat  a  retreat  to  that  hill,"  said 
he,  "  and  then,  being  out  of  sight, 
quick  step." 

They  sauntered  off. 

"  Halt,  in  the  bailiffs  name  !  "  cried 
a  voice  from  the  shore. 

Denys  turned  round,  and  ostenta- 
tiously snapped  his  fingers  at  the 
bailiff",  and  proceeded. 

"  Halt !  in  the  archbishop's  name." 


THE   CLOISTER  AND   THE   HEARTH. 


Ill 


Denys  snapped  his  fingers  at  his 
grace,  and  proceeded. 

"  Halt !  in  the  emperor's  name." 

Denys  snapped  his  lingers  at  his 
Majesty,  and  proceeded. 

Gerard  saw  this  needless  pantomime 
with  regret,  and,  as  soon  as  they  had 
passed  the  brow  of  the  hill,  said, 
"  There  is  now  but  one  course ;  we 
must  run  to  Burgundy  instead  of 
walking " ;  and  he  set  off,  and  ran 
the  best  part  of  a  league  without 
stopping. 

Denys  was  fairly  blown,  and  in- 
quired what  on  earth  had  become 
of  Gerard's  fever.  "  I  begin  to 
miss  it  sadly,"  said  he,  dryly. 

"  I  dropped  it  in  Rhine,  I  trow," 
was  the  reply. 

Presently  they  came  to  a  little  vil- 
lage, and  here  Denys  purchased  a  loaf 
and  a  huge  bottle  of  Khenish  wine. 
For  he  said,  "  We  must  sleep  in  some 
hole  or  corner.  If  we  lie  at  an  inn, 
we  shall  be  taken  in  our  beds."  This 
was  no  more  than  common  prudence 
on  the  old  soldier's  part. 

The  official  network  for  catching 
law-breakers,  especially  plebeian  ones, 
was  very  close  in  that  age ;  though 
the  co-operation  of  the  public  was  al- 
most null,  at  all  events  upon  the  Con- 
tinent. The  innkeepers  were  every- 
where under  close  surveillance  as  to 
their  travellers,  for  whose  acts  they 
were  even  in  some  degree  responsible, 
more  so  it  would  seem  than  for  their 
sufferings. 

The  friends  were  both  glad  when 
the  sun  set,  and  delighted  when,  after 
a  long  trudge  under  the  stars  (for  the 
moon,  if  I  remember  right,  did  not 
rise  till  about  three  in  the  morning), 
they  came  to  a  large  barn  belonging 
to  a  house  at  some  distance.  A 
quantity  of  barley  had  been  lately 
threshed ;  for  the  heap  of  straw  on 
one  side  the  threshing-floor  was  al- 
most as  high  as  the  unthreshed 
corn  on  the  other. 

"  Here  be  two  royal  beds,"  said 
Denys,  "  which  shall  we  lie  on,  the 
mow  or  the  straw  ?  " 

"  The  straw  for  me,"  said  Gerard. 


They  sat  on  the  heap,  and  ate  theil 
brown  bread,  and  drank  their  wine, 
and  then  Denys  covered  his  friend  up 
in  straw,  and  heaped  it  high  above 
him,  leaving  him  only  a  breathing- 
hole  :  "  Water,  they  say,  is  death  to 
fevered  men  ;  I'll  make  warm  water 
on  't,  anyhow." 

Gerard  bade  him  make  his  mind 
easy.  "  These  few  drops  fronj  Rhine 
cannot  chill  me.  I  feel  heat  enough 
in  my  body  now  to  parch  a  kennel,  or 
boil  a  cloud  if  I  was  in  one."  And 
with  this  epigram  his  consciousness 
went  so  rapidly  he  might  really  be 
said  to  "  fall  asleep." 

Denys,  who  lay  awake  awhile,  heard 
that  which  made  him  nestle  closer. 
Horses'  hoofs  came  ringing  up  from 
Dusseldorf,  and  the  wooden  barn 
vibrated  as  they  rattled  past,  howl- 
ing in  a  manner  too  well  known  and 
understood  in  the  fifteenth  century, 
but  as  unfamiliar  in  Europe  now  as  a 
red  Indian's  war-whoop. 

Denys  shook  where  he  lay. 

Gerard  slept  like  a  top. 

It  all  swept  by,  and  troop  and 
howls  died  away. 

The  stout  soldier  drew  a  long 
breath  ;  whistled  in  a  whisper ; 
closed  his  eyes ;  and  slept  like  top 
two. 

In  the  morning  he  sat  up  and  put 
out  his  hand  to  wake  Gerard.  It 
lighted  on  the  young  man's  forehead, 
and  found  it  quite  wet.  Denys  then, 
in  his  quality  of  nurse,  forbore  to 
wake  him.  "  It  is  ill  to  check  sleep 
or  sweat  in  a  sick  man,"  said  he. 
"  I  know  that  far,  though  I  ne'er 
minced  ape  nor  gallows-bird." 

After  waiting  a  good  hour,  he 
felt  desperately  hungry ;  so  he  turned, 
and  in  seh'-defence  went  to  sleep 
again. 

Poor  fellow,  in  his  hard  life  he  had 
been  often  driven  to  this  manceuvre. 
At  high  noon  he  was  waked  by  Ge- 
rard moving,  and  found  him  sitting 
up,  with  the  straw  smoking  round  him 
like  a  dunghill.  Animal  heat  vtrsiis 
moisture.  Gerard  called  him  "  a  lazy 
loon."     He  quietly  grinned. 


112 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THK   IIKARTH. 


They  set  out,  and  the  first  thinp 
Dcnyt)  Jill  was  to  fxirv  Gerard  his 
nrhalest,  etc.,  and  mount  a  high  tree 
on  the  road.  '•  ( 'oast  clear  to  the  next 
vilUij^c,"  said  he,  and  on  they  went. 

On  drawing  Uiar  tlie  vilhige  Denys 
halteil,  and  suddenly  inijuired  of  Ge- 
rard how  lie  felt. 

"  What !  ean  you  not  see  ?  I  feel 
as  if  Kwmc  was  no  farther  than  yon 
hamlet." 

"  But  thy  body,  lad  ;   thy  skin  ?  " 

"  Neither  hot  nor  cold  ;  and  yester- 
day 't  was  iiot  one  while  and  cold  an- 
other. But  what  I  cannot  get  rid  of 
is  this  tiresome  leg." 

"  Im  grand  malhenr  !  Many  of 
my  comrades  have  found  no  siieii 
ditKenlty." 

"  Ah  !  there  it  goes  again  ;  itclies 
consumedly." 

"  Unhaj)py  youth,"  said  Denys, 
solemnly,  "  the  sum  of  thy  troubles 
is  this  :  thy  fever  is  gone,  and  thy 
wound  is  —  iiealing.  Sith  so  it  is,'' 
added  he,  indulgently,  "I  shall  tell 
thee  a  little  piece  of  newa  I  had  oth- 
erwise withheld." 

"  What  is  't  ?  "  asked  Gerard, 
sparkling  with  enriositv. 

"  TIIK  IlUK  AND  CRY  IS  OUT 
AFTER  US,  AND  UN  FLEET 
HORSES." 

"  Oh !  " 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

Gerard  was  staggered  by  this 
sndden  communieution  ;  and  his  color 
came  and  went.  Then  he  clenched 
his  teeth  with  ire.  For  men  of  any 
spirit  at  all  are  like  the  wild  boar  ;  he 
will  run  from  a  superior  force,  owing, 
perhaps,  to  his  not  being  an  ass;  but 
if  you  stick  to  his  heels  too  long,  and 
too  close,  and,  in  short,  bore  him, 
he  will  v>hirl  and  come  tearing  at  a 
multitude  of  hunters,  and  perhaps 
bore  you.  Gerard  then  set  his  teeih 
and  looked  battle.  But  the  next  mo- 
ment his  countenance  fell,  and  he  said 
plaintively,  "  And  my  axe  is  in 
Rhine." 


They  consulted  togctlier.  Pm 
dence  bade  them  avoid  that  village: 
hunger  said,  "  Buy  food." 

Hunger  spoke  loudest.  Prudence 
most  lonvincinglv.  They  settled  to 
strike  across  the  helds. 

As  they  went,  the  very  eyes  of  the 
j)air  betrayed  the  ditl'crence  in  their 
minds  ;  so  quick  and  outward  were 
those  of  Denys,  so  ruminating  and  in- 
ward (icraid's. 

"  Halt  at  this  haystack,"  said  the 
latter  ;  "  now  tell  me  by  what  clew 
are  these  following  us  ;  they  know  us 
not." 

"  Why,  by  description,  sure  :  sim- 
jilcton,  they  have  got  our  habit  and 
arms  and  faces  to  the  letter,  and  writ 
out  fair  by  the  town  clerk,  I  warrant 
ye." 

"  I  guessed  as  much.  Well,  then, 
I  'II  confound  their  description  and 
them  too.  (Jive  me  thy  huti' jerkin. 
Keep  thou  my  pjirse,  't  is  large  and 
noticeable.  Now  take  thou  my  long 
hair,  and  twist  it  under  my  l)onnet. 
Saiil  I  twist  it  otf  ?  Now  move  not  for 
thy  life."  He  ran  olV,  and  Denys 
passed  two  mortal  hours  of  utter 
wretchedness.  He  wanted  to  be  do- 
ing, and  instead  of  that  he  was  pas- 
sive. He  was  out  of  his  part,  and 
became  in  some  respects  his  own  op- 
posite, so  narrow  arc  our  strongest 
qualities.  He  had  as  many  misgiv- 
ings and  feeble  fears  for  Gerard,  ab- 
sent and  left  to  his  ownTFesourecs,  as 
any  old  grandam  for  her  boy  pet 
when  out  of  sight ;  only  it  broke  out 
in  violence  instead  of  wailing.  "  O, 
if  they  touch  but  a  hair  of  his  heatl, 
I  '11  burn  their  village  to  the  ground, 
and  shoot  them  down  like  vermin  by 
the  light  of  their  own  ruin  !  May 
Satan  twist  my  neck  and  fry  my  soul 
but  I  '11  cut  every  male  throat,  young 
or  old,  that  has  the  ill  luck  but  to 
look  on  and  see  my  dear  comrade 
harmed  !  "  And  so  after  the  first  hour 
he  went  on,  mixing  rage  with  tender- 
ness and  good  with  ill,  and,  above 
all,  vomiting  language  to  hear  which 
one  might  really  wonder  Heaven  did 
not  strike   him  dead.     Nor,  while  I 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE   HEARTH. 


113 


sacrifice  perfect  truth  of  portraiture  to 
decency  by  thinniug  those  expletives 
with  which  his  talk  was  garnished,  or 
rather  measled,  do  I  aim  to  conceal 
from  my  readers  the  broad  fact  that 
this  Burgundian  soldier  was,  on  the 
surface,  what  we  humble  civilians 
call  a  bit  of  a  blackguard. 

At  last,  just  as  he  had  determined, 
spite  of  orders,  to  go  into  the  village, 
and  rescue  his  comrade  or  share  his 
fate,  Gerard  pounced  upon  him  from 
behind  the  hedge,  having  made  a  com- 
plete circuit. 

"  Embrace  me  !  "  cried  Denys. 
"Ah!  drole  !  "  (angrily.)  "  Polis- 
son  ! "  (tenderly.)  "You  have  made 
me  pass  an  ill  quarter  of  an  hour. 
Enfm  te  voila  ;  soupons  ;  as  I  live,  a 
sausage  as  big  as  one's  leg,  a  loaf, 
and  a  galopin  hotel !  " 

"  Ay,  lad,  but  what  is  in  my  wallet  ? 
divine  that ! " 

"  Nay,  I  know  not ;  a  dead  cat !  " 

"Monster!  no.     Fire." 

"  Then  pull  it  forth  ere  it  nips  thee ; 
'tis  a  marvellous  unwholesome  lodger 
in  a  man's  shirt-tail,  is  your  whoreson 
fire." 

"  Nay,  this  is  tame  fire,  and  here  is 
his  cage," — and  Gerard  produced  a 
flint  and  tinder-box ;  item,  brim- 
stone matches ;  item,  two  short  but 
thick  candles,  with  rush  wicks  (the 
only  ones  then  known),  —  and  eyed 
them  all  like  a  doting  parent. 

Over  their  meal  he  told  his  story. 

"  On  leaving  you  first,  I  cut  a  staff; 
for  I  said  '  In  their  description  will 
be  no  staflF,  and  every  little  furthers 
confusion.'  Then  what  did  11  O, 
then  I  thought." 

"  I  still  leave  that  to  the  last,"  re- 
marked Denys,  with  his  mouth  brim- 
ful. 

"  It  is  as  well,  perhaps.  Then  I 
bent  and  hobbled  painfully  with  my 
stick  as  one  worn  out.  Then  I  doffed 
my  good  shoon  and  bestowed  them 
in  my  wallet,  and  soiled  my  feet  in 
a  kennel,  and  so  into  their  village." 

"  Young  man,"  said  Denys,  solemn- 
ly, "  experience  hath  been  niggardly 


to  thee,  but  Nature  is  filling  the  gap 
by  degrees  ;  I  have  watched  her  at 
her  work  with  interest ;  en  avant !  " 

"  But  or  ever  I  wend  to  the  first 
homestead,  what  should  pass  me  full 
gallop  but  a  pursuivant,  brave  as 
a  popinjay,  with  a  tin  trump,  and 
parchments  thereto  attached.  At 
the  village  cross  he  dismounts,  doffs 
his  bonnet  to  the  cross,  blows  his 
horn,  and  there  fixes  a  goodly  parch- 
ment." 

"  Our  description,"  shouted  Denys, 
with  a  rattling  oath.  "  Why  was  not 
I  within  shot  of  the  knave  ?  Didst 
not  shake  in  thy  shoon  ?  " 

"For  a  minute;  but  by  good  luck 
the  priest  was  abroad,  and  of  all  ihe 
frieze  jerkins  and  striped  fardingales 
that  gathered  round  the  well,  not  one, 
as  it  chanced,  could  read,  but  only 
levelled  their  eyes  on 't  and  thrust 
forth  their  noses." 

"  Like  venison  stationed  sniffing 
up  at  a  scarlet  rag.  Methinks  I  see 
the  boovs.     Forward  !  " 

"  Then  up  hobbled  I,  and  with 
feigned  labor  spelled  out  the  writ- 
ing aloud,  the  folk  hanging  on  my 
words." 

"  We  shall  hang  on  something  bet- 
ter wind-proof,"  said  Denys,  going 
suddenly  into  a  great  passion ;  "  't  was 
foolhardy." 

Gerard  wore  a  lofty  expression. 
"  Poor  Denys,"  said  he,  patronizing- 
ly ;  "  dost  really  think  I  read  it  forth 
as  writ  1     Nay,  I  embellished  it." 

"  Anan  1  " 

"  I  drew  the  two  ends  farther 
apart." 

"  Comment  ? " 

"  I  heightened  you  and  lowered 
me." 

"  Plait-il  ?  " 

"  Well,  then,  —  Denys,  you  are  a 
veteran,  you  know.  How  often  have 
I  heard  you  say  if?  " 

"  And  who  gainsays  it  ?  Twelve 
years'  hard  service,  mort  du  diable  !  " 

"  And  in  age  you  are  eight-and- 
twenty." 

"  On  St.  Denys  his  day  "  (doffing 
his  cap). 


114 


TIIK   CLOISTER   AND   THK   HEARTH. 


"Well,  then,  I  read  you  forth  to 
the  folk  11  veteran." 

"  And  1,  kinf,'  a  veteran,  tell  you 
truth  is  not  to  Ik-  spoken  at  all  times, 
far  loss  read  out  to  a  man's  foes." 

"  Patience !  I  made  you  out  a  real 
veteran,  the  veteran  of  painters  and 
minstrels." 

"  Gramcrcy,"  said  the  veteran,  pee- 
vishly. "Small  is  my  pain,  "iour 
minstrels  are  liars  and  knaves  and 
sots  ;  and  the  t,'reatest  va^'abonils  yu- 
ing." 

"  Except  those  whoso  deeds  they 
chant." 

"  Granted,"  said  Denys,  with  con- 
temptuous indirterencc.  The  sly  Ge- 
rard liad  ;,'i)t  him  out  of  his  depth. 

"  To  tell  the  n-al  trutii,"  continued 
Gerard,  "  I  painted  you  to  those 
boors  partly  from  the  Dus'^cldorf 
parchment,  but  mainly  from  a  sketch 
—  of  a  veteran — l)y  llnl)ert  Van 
Kyck.  His  sister  .M:irt,Mrct,  my  most 
dear  friend,  sliuwed  it  mc  oft.  Thus 
I  dwelt  nuicli  on  thine  arbalest,  and 
thy  sword,  also  on  my  axe,  which 
I  thifu^ht  was  deep  in  Hhine,  but 
lo  !  't  was  on  that  parchment  all  the 
time." 

Denys  winked,  but  irresolutely, 
his  sense  of  humor  being  somewhat 
impeded  by  his  ire. 

"  Thy  great,  hideous  beard  I  kept 
religiously,  being  thy  friend,  and 
divining,  by  thy  handiing  it  from 
morn  till  night,  that  tiiou  art  proud 
on  't.  Well-a-ilay,  of  what  cannot 
men  make  shift  to  be  proud  ?  Hut, 
though  I  plucked  not  a  single  bristle, 
1  snowed  upon  them  all,  and  thy 
sunny  locks  I  did  i)roperly  grizzle ; 
and  somewhat  curbed  tliy  stitf  neck 
and  the  j)ikestatf  in  thy  backbone. 
Why,  how  now,  veteran !  thine  eyes 
have  vanished  wholly.  One  would 
say  thy  crow's-feet  had  stamped  them 
into  thy  head,  and  shut  both  windows 
on  'em',  for  naught  is  visible  where 
peepers  were  eftsoon." 

"  They  have  but  ste])ped  in  a-doors 
to  ponder  thy  unparalleled  knavery  ; 
thou  fox  in  gooseskin  !     Forward  !  " 

"  Well,  then,  in  this  ray  pictured 


veteran's  hand  I  set  —  what  1  di« 
vine  ! " 

"  Who  can  divine  thee,  fathomless 
impostor!     What  was 't  ?  l\\  i  eh?" 

"  A  tender  stripling." 

"  Sapling,  thou  wouldst  say." 

"  No  ;  no  saj)ling,  that  is,  metaphor 
apart ;  but  a  ilowny  stripling,  a  ten- 
der innocent,  of  about  thirteen.  My 
years  had  skipped  away  from  me,  — • 
to  thee,  I  trow  ;  but  what  of  that  .' 
have  not  good  comrades  all  in  com- 
mon ?  say." 

"  Parbleu ! " 

"  This  done,  I  bought  all  these 
kickshaws,  and  could  liardly  get  the 
merchant  t(}  look  at  me  or  reckon  the 
change,  for  ])eering  o'er  my  head 
after  the  veteran  and  his  cub.  (Four 
golden  angels  reward,  Denys  !  !  !)  So 
then  I  went  through  the  town,  and 
prudently  came  round  a  league  to 
you.  You  can  go  to  the  village,  too, 
as  you  like  ;  what  hitulers  '.  they  will 
cluster  about  you  crving,  '  Young 
iiuin,  have  you  seen  a  Veteran  on  the 
road,  an  old  hoary  sinner  of  a  .sol- 
dier with  a  cross-bow  on  his  rogue's 
back,  and  a  little  scrubby  boy  in  's 
hand  ? ' " 

Denys  gave  a  squeak  and  rolled  in 
the  loose  hay,  seeing  wliich  Gerard 
hummed  the  okl  French  rhyme  :  — 

"  Un  bon  vieillarJ  —  a, 
El  un  jeune  muutard  — a," 

ami  laughed  almost  as  lustily  as  the 
other.  For  wit  tells  not  always  by 
its  merit,  but  its  circumstance.  A 
very  gentle  stroke  of  humor  makes 
the  heart  dance  with  gayety,  when  it 
brings  some  solid  advantage  with  it, 
or  relieves  some  pressing  care. 

Nay,  I  do  not  doubt  that,  could  you 
save  Nestor's  life  with  a  pnn,  or  mere 
jingle  of  words, 
"  Nestor  would  swear  the  jest  was  laughable." 

This  trinmjih,  however,  did  not 
long  shut  their  c'ves  to  the  peril  that 
still  environed  them.  Uj)on  reflection, 
they  can-ied  each  a  bundle  of  hay  to 
a  deep  ditch  hard  by,  and  there  lay 
till   nightfall,  and  then   Denys   pro 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


115 


posed  a  night  march.  They  started 
about  ten  o'clock,  and  walked  all 
night  barefooted.  It  was  a  dismal 
night,  dark  as  pitch,  and  blowing 
hard.  They  could  neither  see  nor 
hear,  nor  be  seen  nor  heard ;  and,  for 
aught  I  know,  passed,  like  ghosts,  close 
to  their  foes.  These  they  almost 
Forgot  in  their  natural  horror  of  the 
black,  tempestuous  night,  in  which 
they  seemed  to  grope  and  hew  their 
way  as  in  black  marble.  When  the 
moon  rose,  they  were  many  a  league 
from  Dusseldorf.  But  they  still 
trudged  on.  Presently  they  came  to 
a  huge  building. 

"  Courage !  "  cried  Denys,  "  I  think 
I  know  this  convent.  Ay,  it  is.  We 
are  in  the  see  of  Juliers.  Cologne 
has  no  power  here." 

The  next  moment  they  were  safe 
within  the  walls. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

Here  Gerard  made  acquaintance 
with  a  monk  who  had  constructed 
the  great  dial  in  the  prior's  garden, 
and  a  wheel  for  drawing  water,  and  a 
winnowing  machine  for  the  grain,  &c. ; 
and  had  ever  some  ingenious  mechan- 
ism on  hand.  He  had  made  several 
psalteries  and  two  dulcimers,  and  was 
now  attempting  a  set  of  regalles,  or 
little  organ,  for  the  choir. 

Now  Gerard  played  the  humble 
psaltery  a  little;  but  the  monk 
touched  that  instrument  divinely,  and 
showed  him  most  agreeably  what  a 
novice  he  was  in  music.  He  also  illu- 
minated finely,  but  could  not  write  so 
beautifully  as  Gerard.  Comparing 
their  acquirements  with  the  earnest- 
ness and  simplicity  of  an  age  in  which 
accomplishments  implied  a  true  natu- 
ral bent.  Youth  and  Age  soon  became 
like  brothers,  and  Gerard  was  pressed 
hard  to  stay  all  night.  He  consulted 
Denys,  who  assented  with  a  rueful 
shrug. 

Gerard  told  his  old  new  friend 
whither  he  wa^  going,  and  described 


their  late  adventure,  softening  down 
the  bolster. 

"  Alack  ! "  said  the  good  old  man, 
"  I  have  been  a  great  traveller  in  my 
day  ;  but  none  molested  me."  He 
then  told  him  to  avoid  inns;  they 
were  always  haunted  by  rogues  and 
roisterers,  whence  his  soul  might  take 
harm  even  did  his  body  escape ;  and 
to  manage  each  day's  journey  so  as  to 
lie  at  some  peaceful  monastery ;  then 
suddenly  breaking  off  and  looking  as 
sharp  as  a  needle  at  Gerard,  he  asked 
him  how  long  since  he  had  been  shriv- 
en 1  Gerard  colored  up  and  replied 
feebly :  — 

"  Better  than  a  fortnight." 

"  And  thou  an  exorcist !  No  won- 
der perils  have  overtaken  thee.  Come, 
thou  mnst  be  assoilcd  out  of  hand." 

"  Yes,  father,"  said  Gerard,  "  and 
with  all  mine  heart "  ;  and  was  sink- 
ing down  to  his  knees,  with  his  hands 
joined,  but  the  monk  stopped  him 
half  fretfully:  — 

"  Not  to  me !  not  to  me !  not  to 
me!  I  am  as  fidl  of  the  world  as 
thou  or  any  he  that  lives  in  't.  My 
whole  soul  it  is  in  these  wooden  pipes 
and  sorry  leathern  stops,  which  shall 
perish  —  with  them  whose  minds  are 
fixed  on  such  like  vanities." 

"  Dear  father,"  said  Gerard,  "  they 
arc  for  the  use  of  the  church,  and 
surely  that  sanctifies  the  pains  and 
labor  spent  on  them  f  " 

"  That  is  just  what  the  Devil  has 
been  whispering  in  mine  car  this 
while,"  said  the  monk,  putting  one 
hand  behind  his  back  and  shaking  his 
finger  half  threateningly,  half  play- 
fully, at  Gerard.  "  He  was  even  so 
kind  and  thoughtful  as  to  mind  me 
that  Solomon  built  the  Lord  a  house 
with  rare  hangings,  and  that  this  in 
him  was  coimted  gracious  and  no  sin. 
O,  he  can  quote  Scripture  rarely.  But 
I  am  not  so  simple  a  monk  as  you 
think,  my  lad,"  cried  the  good  father, 
with  sudden  defiance,  addressing  not 
Gerard,  but —  Vacancy.  "  This  one 
toy  finished,  vigils,  fasts,  and  prayers 
for  me ;  prayers  standing,  prayers 
lying  on  the  chapel  floor,  and  prayers 


116 


THE  CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


in  a  right  good  tub  of  cold  water." 
He  nudged  Gerard,  and  winked  his 
eye  knowingly.  "  Nothing  he  hates 
and  dreads  like  seeing  us  monks  at 
our  orisons  up  to  our  chins  in  cold 
water.  For  corpus  domat  aqua.  So 
now  go  confess  thy  little  trumpery 
sins,  ])ar(lonable  in  youth  and  secular- 
ity,  and  leave  me  to  mine,  sweet  to 
me  as  honey,  and  to  be  expiated  in 
proportion." 

Gerard  bowed  his  head,  but  could 
not  help  saying,  "  Where  shall  I  find 
a  confessor  more  holy  and  clement  ?  " 

"  In  each  of  the.se  cells,"  rc])lied 
tlic  monk,  simply  (they  were  now  in 
the  corridor)  ;  "there,  go  to  Brother 
Anselm,  yonder." 

Gerard  followed  the  monk's  direc- 
tion and  made  for  a  cell ;  but  tlie 
doors  were  pretty  close  to  one  anoth- 
er, and  it  seems  he  mistook  ;  for  just 
as  he  was  about  to  tap  he  heard  his 
old  friend  crying  to  him  in  an  agitat- 
ed whisper,  "  Nay  !  nay  !  nay  !  "  He 
turned,  and  there  was  the  monk  at 
his  cell-door  in  a  strange  state  of 
anxiety,  going  up  and  down,  and 
beating  the  air  double-handed,  like  a 
bottom  sawyer.  Gerard  really  thou^'ht 
the  cell  he  was  at  must  be  inhabited 
by  some  dangerous  wild  beast,  if  not 
by  that  personage  whose  presence  in 
the  convent  had  been  so  distinctly 
proclaimed.  He  looked  back  inquir- 
ingly, and  went  on  to  the  next  door. 
Then  his  old  friend  nodded  his  head 
rapidly,  bursting  in  a  moment  into  a 
comparatively  blissful  expression  of 
face,  and  shot  back  into  his  den.  He 
took  his  hour-glass,  turned  it,  and 
went  to  work  on  his  regal les  ;  and 
often  he  looked  up  and  said  to 
himself,  "  Well-a-day,  the  sands  how 
s\vift  they  run  when  the  man  is  bent 
over  earthly  toys." 

Father  Anselm  was  a  venerable 
monk,  with  an  ample  head,  and  a  face 
all  dignity  and  love.  Therefore  Ge- 
rard, in  confessing  to  him  and  reply- 
ing to  his  gentle  though  searching 
questions,  could  not  help  thinking, 
"  Here  is  a  head !      O  dear  !  O  dear  ! 


I  wonder  whether  you  will  let  me 
draw  it  when  I  have  done  cunfcssing." 
And  so  his  own  head  got  confused, 
and  he  forjjot  a  crime  or  two.  How- 
ever, he  did  not  lower  tlie  bolstering 
this  tinu- ;  nor  was  he  so  uncandid  as 
to  detract  from  the  paj^an  character 
of  the  bolstered. 

The  penance  inflicted  was  this :  he 
was  to  enter  the  convent  church,  and, 
prostrating  himself,  kiss  the  lowest 
step  of  the  altar  three  times  ;  then, 
kneeling  on  the  floor,  to  say  three 
paternosters  and  a  credo  :  "  This  done, 
come  back  to  me  on  the  instant." 

Accordingly,  his  short  mortifica- 
tion performed,  Gerard  returned,  and 
found  Fatlier  Anselm  spreading  plas- 
ter. 

"  After  the  soul  the  body,"  said  he  ; 
"  know  that  I  am  the  chirurj^con  here, 
for  want  of  a  better.  This  is  goitig 
on  thy  leg  to  cool  it,  not  to  burn  it, 
the  saints  forbid  !  " 

During  the  operation,  the  monastic 
leech,  who  had  naturally  been  inter- 
ested by  the  Dusseldorf  branch  of  Ge- 
rard's confession,  rather  sided  with 
Denys  upon  "  bleeding."  "  We  Ben- 
edictines seldom  let  blood  nowa- 
days ;  the  lay  leeches  say  't  is  from 
timidity  and  want  of  skill :  but,  in 
sooth,  we  have  long  found  that  sim- , 
pies  will  cure  most  of  the  ills  that  can 
be  cured  at  all.  Besides,  they  never 
kill  in  capable  hands  ;  and  other  rem- 
edies slay  like  thunderbolts.  As  for 
the  blood,  the  Vulgate  saith  expressly 
it  is  '  the  life  of  a  man.'  And  in 
medicine  or  law,  as  in  divinity,  to  be 
wiser  than  the  All-wise  is  to  be  a  fool. 
Moreover,  simples  are  mighty.  The 
little  four-footed  creature  that  kills 
the  poisonous  snake,  if  bitten  herself, 
finds  an  herb  powerful  enough  to 
quell  that  poison,  though  stronger 
and  of  swifter  operation  than  any 
mortal  malady ;  and  we,  taught  by 
her  wisdom  and  our  own  traditions, 
still  search  and  trj^  the  virtues  of  those 
plants  the  good  God  hath  strewed 
this  earth  with,  some  to  feed  men's 
bodies,  some  to  heal  them.  Only  in 
desperate  ills  we  mix  heavenly  with 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


117 


earthly  \'irtue.  We  steep  the  hair  or 
the  l)ones  of  some  dead  saint  in  the 
medicine,  and  thus  work  marvellous 
cures." 

"  Think  you,  father,  it  is  along  of 
the  reliques  ?  for  Peter  a  Floris,  a 
learned  leech  and  no  pagan,  denies  it 
stoutly." 

"  What  knows  Peter  h,  Floris  ? 
And  what  know  I  ?  I  take  not  on 
me  to  say  we  can  command  the  saints, 
and,  will  they  nill  they,  can  draw  cor- 
poral virttic  from  their  blest  remains. 
But  I  see  that  the  patient  drinking 
thus  in  fiiith  is  often  bettered  as  by  a 
charm.  Doubtless  faith  in  the  recip- 
ient is  for  much  in  all  these  cures. 
But  so  't  was  ever.  A  sick  woman, 
that  all  the  Jewish  leeches  failed  to 
cure,  did  but  touch  Christ's  garment 
and  was  healed  in  a  moment.  Had 
she  not  touclied  that  sacred  piece  of 
cloth,  she  had  never  been  healed.  Had 
she  without  faith,  not  touched  it  only, 
but  worn  it  to  her  grave,  I  trow  she 
had  been  none  the  better  for  't.  But 
we  do  ill  to  search  these  things  too 
curiously.  All  we  see  around  us  calls 
for  faith.  Ha-.'e,  then,  a  little  patience ! 
We  shall  soon  know  all.  Meantime, 
I,  thy  confessor  for  the  nonce,  do 
strictly  forbid  thee,  on  thy  soul's 
health,  to  hearken  learned  lay  folk  on 
things  religious.  Arrogance  is  their 
bane  ;  with  it  they  shut  heaven's  open 
door  in  their  own  faces.  Mind,  I  say 
learned  laics.  Unlearned  ones  have 
often  been  my  masters  in  humility, 
and  may  be  thine.  Thy  wound  is 
cared  for ;  in  three  days  't  will  be  but 
a  scar.  And  now  God  speed  thee, 
and  the  saints  make  thee  as  good  and 
as  happy  as  thou  art  beautiful  and 
gracious."  Gerard  hoped  there  Avas 
no  need  to  part  yet,  for  he  was  to  dine 
in  the  refectory.  But  Father  Anselm 
told  him,  with  a  shade  of  regret  just 
perceptible  and  no  more,  that  he  did 
not  leave  his  cell  this  week,  being 
himself  in  penitence ;  and  with  this 
he  took  Gerard's  head  delicately  in 
both  hands,  and  kissed  him  on  the 
brow ;  and,  almost  before  the  cell  door 
had  closed  on  him,  was  back  to  his 


pious  offices.  Gerard  went  away, 
chilled  to  the  heart  by  the  isolation 
of  the  monastic  life,  and  saddened 
too.  "Alas  !  "  he  thought,  "  here  is 
a  kind  face  I  must  never  look  to  see 
again  on  earth ;  a  kind  voice  gone 
from  mine  ear  and  my  heart  forever. 
There  is  nothing  but  meeting  and 
parting  in  this  sorrowful  world. 
Well-a-day  !  well-a-day  !  "  This  pen- 
sive mood  Mas  interrupted  by  a  young 
monk  who  came  for  him  and  took 
him  to  the  refectory ;  there  he  found 
several  monks  seated  at  a  table,  and 
Denys  standing  like  a  poker,  being 
examined  as  to  the  towns  he  should 
pass  through  ;  the  friars  then  clubbed 
their  knowledge,  and  marked  out  the 
route,  noting  all  the  religious  houses 
on  or  near  that  road,  and  this  they 
gave  Gerard.  Then  supper,  and  af- 
ter it  the  old  monk  carried  Gerard  to 
his  cell,  and  they  had  an  eager  chat, 
and  the  friar  incidentally  revealed  the 
cause  of  his  pantomime  in  the  corri- 
dor. "  Ye  had  Avellnigh  fallen  into 
Jerome's  clutches.  Yon  was  his 
cell." 

"  Is  Father  Jerome  an  ill  man, 
then  ?  " 

"  An  ill  man  ? "  and  the  friar 
crossed  liimself;  "a  saint,  an  ancho- 
rite, the  very  pillar  of  this  house.  He 
had  sent  ye  barefoot  to  Lorctto.  Nay, 
I  forgot,  y'  are  bound  for  Italy  ;  the 
spitefiU  old  —  saint  upon  earth  had 
sent  ye  to  Canterbury  or  Compo.stella. 
But  Jerome  Avas  born  old  and  with  a 
cowl ;  Anselm  and  I  were  boys  once, 
and  Avicked  beyond  anything  you  can 
imagine  (Gerard  Avore  a  somcAvhat 
incredulous  look) ;  this  keeps  us  hum- 
ble more  or  less,  and  makes  us  reason- 
ably lenient  to  youth  and  hot  blood." 

Then,  at  Gerard's  earnest  request, 
one  more  heaA'enly  strain  upon  the 
psalterion,  and  so  to  bed,  the  troubled 
spirit  calmed,  and  the  sore  heart 
soothed. 

I  haA-e  described  in  full  this  day, 
marked  only  by  contrast,  a  day  that 
came  like  oil  on  AA'aves  after  so  many 
passions  and  perils^  —  because  it  must 


118 


Tin-:  CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


Btand  in  this  nnrrativcns  the  represen- 
tative of  inaiiy  Mich  (lavs  whirh  now 
suc-cet'<ktl  to  it.  l""or  our  travelli-rs 
on  thi'ir  weary  way  ix|)tTiin<ciI  that 
which  most  o(  my  reailirs  will  find  in 
tho  l(»nj;iTJoiirncy  of  life,  viz.  tliat  stir- 
riii;;  fvint.s  are  not  evi-nly  distrihutt'd 
ovtT  the  whole  road,  Init  tome  hy  tits 
ami  start.s,  and,  a.«  it  were,  in  clusters. 
To  some  extent  this  may  he  lietau.se 
they  draw  one  another  i>y  links  more 
or  le>s  siditle.  lint  there  is  more  in  it 
than  that.  It  hapin-ns  so.  Life  is  an 
intermittent  fever.  Now  nil  narra- 
tors, whether  of  history  or  fiction, 
are  com|ielled  to  .slur  these  harren 
ixirtions  of  time,  — or  else  line  trunks. 
The  ]iraetiee,  however,  tends  to  );ive 
the  niij^'uarded  reader  a  wnm;;  arith- 
nietieal  impression,  which  there  is  a 
jmrtii'idar  rea.soii  for  avoiding:  in  these 
pa^'es  as  far  as  jjtissihle.  1  invite, 
therefore,  your  inteliiKcnee  to  my  aid, 
and  ask  you  to  try  antl  realize  that, 
allhon)^h  there  were  no  more  vivid  ail- 
ventnres  for  a  Ion;;  while,  oirt?  day's 
march  succccdeil  another  ;  one  mon- 
astery after  another  fed  and  lodpi-d 
them  ;:ratis  with  a  welcome  always 
charitahlc,  sometimes  p-nial ;  and 
thou;,di  they  met  no  enemy  hut  win- 
ter and  rou;:h  weather,  antaj.'onists 
not  always  eontemptihle,  yet  they 
trnd;,'ed  over  a  much  larf;er  tract 
of  territory  than  tiiat  their  passa^^c 
throu^rh  which  I  have  tle.serilK-d  so 
minutely.  And  .so  the  i>air,  Gerard 
lironzetl  in  tlie  face  ami  travel-stainetl 
from  head  tt>  foot,  ami  Denys  with  his 
shoes  in  tatters,  stitV and  footsore  Ujth 
of  them,  drew  near  the  Burgundian 
frontier. 


CI1.VPTER   XXX. 

Gerakd  was  almost  as  eap;cr  for 
tliis  promised  land  as  Denys  ;  for  the 
latter  constantly  chanted  its  praises, 
and  at  every  little  annoyance  showed 
him  "  they  did  things  better  in  Bur- 
gundy "  ;  and  ahove  all  played  on  his 
foible  by  guaranteeing  clean  bed- 
clothes at  the  inns  of  that  polished 


nation.  "  I  ask  no  more,"  the  Hol- 
lander would  say  ;  "  to  think  that  1 
have  not  lain  once  in  a  nakcil  ImmI 
sinee  1  left  home  !  When  I  lot»k  at 
their  linen,  instead  of  dotHng  hab- 
it and  hose,  it  is  mine  eyes  and  nose 
I  would  fain  W  shut  of." 

Denys  carried  his  love  of  country 
so  far  as  to  walk  twenty  lfag"es  in 
sIkhvs  that  hail  exi)l<>d«d,  rather  ihati 
buy  of  a  fiirman  churl,  \\ho  would 
thrt)w  all  manner  tif  obstacles  in  a 
customer's  wav,  —  his  incivility,  his 
dinner,  his  iMxIy. 

Towards  sunset  they  foimd  them- 
selves at  e<iual  distances  fnmt  a  little 
town  and  a  monastery  ;  only  the  lat- 
ter was  otV  the  road.  Denys  was  for 
the  inn,  Geranl  for  the  convent. 
Denys  gave  way,  but  on  condition 
that,  onie  in  Hurgiindy,  they  shoultl 
always  stt>p  at  an  inn.  Gerard  con- 
sented to  this  the  more  readily  that 
his  chart,  with  its  list  of  convents, 
curled  here.  So  they  tnrneil  otl'  the 
roail.  Ami  now  (Jeranl  asked  with 
suq)risc  whence  this  sudden  aversion 
to  ])laces  that  had  fed  and  lodgetl  them 
gratis  so  often.  The  soldier  hemmed 
and  hawetl  at  first  ;  but  at  bust  his 
wrongs  burst  forth.  It  came  out  that 
this  was  no  sudden  aversion,  but  an 
ancient  and  abiding  horror,  which  ho 
had  suppressed  till  now,  but  with  in- 
finite dirticulty  anrl  out  of  politeness: 
"  I  saw  they  hatl  put  powilcr  in  vour 
drink,"  said  he,  "  so  I  forbore  tlicm. 
However,  In-ing  the  last,  why  not 
ea.sc  my  miml  f  Know,  then,  I  have 
Inx'n  like  a  fish  out  of  water  in  all 
those  great  dungeons.  You  straight- 
way levant  with  some  t)ld  shaveling: 
so  you  see  not  my  purgatory." 

"  Forgive  me  !  I  have  been  selfish." 

"  Ay,  ay,  I  forgive  thee,  little  one  ; 
't  is  not  thy  fault ;  art  not  the  first 
fool  that  has  been  priest-rid,  and  monk- 
bit.  But  I  Tl  not  forgive  them  my 
miser}-."  Then,  al)out  a  century 
before  Henry  VIII. 's  commissioners, 
he  delivered  his  indictment.  These 
gloomy  piles  were  all  built  alike. 
Inns  differed,  but  here  all  was  monot- 
ony.    Great  gate,  little  gate,  so  many 


THE  CLOISTER  AND   THE  HEARTH. 


119 


steps  and  then  a  gloomy  cloister. 
Here  the  dortour,  there  the  great  cold 
refectory,  where  you  nmst  sit  mum- 
chance,  or  at  least  inaudible,  he  who 
liked  to  speak  his  mind  out;  "and 
then,"  said  he,  "  nobody  is  a  man 
here,  but  all  are  slaves,  and  of  what  ? 
of  a  peevish,  tinkling  bell,  that  never 
sleeps.  An  't  were  a  trumpet  now, 
aye  sounding  alarums,  't  would  n't 
freeze  a  man's  heart  so.  Tinkle, 
tinkle,  tinkle,  and  you  must  sit  to 
meat  with  maybe  no  stomach  for  food. 
Ere  30ur  meat  settles  in  your  stomach, 
tinkle,  tinkle,  and  ye  must  to  church 
with  maybe  no  stomach  for  devotion  ; 
I  am  not  a  hog  at  prayers,  for  one. 
Tinkle,  tinkle !  and  now  you  must  to 
bed  with  your  eyes  open.  Well,  by 
then  you  have  contrived  to  shut  them, 
some  uneasy  imp  of  darkness  has  got 
to  the  bell-rope,  and  tinkle,  tinkle,  it 
behooves  you  say  a  prayer  in  the  dark, 
whether  you  know  one  or  not.  If 
they  heard  the  sort  of  prayers  I  mut- 
ter when  they  break  my  rest  with  their 
tinkle  !  Well,  you  drop  off  again 
and  get  about  an  eyeful  of  sleep  ;  lo, 
it  is  tinkle,  tinkle,  for  matins." 

"  And  the  only  clapper  you  love  is 
a  woman's,"  put  in  Gerard,  half  con- 
temptuously. 

"  Because  there  is  some  music  in 
that,  even  Avhen  it  scolds,"  was  the 
stout  reply.  "  And  then  to  be  always 
checked.  If  I  do  but  put  my  finger 
in  the  salt-cellar,  straightway  I  hear, 
"  Have  you  no  knife  that  you  finger 
the  salt  1 "  And  if  I  but  Avipe  my 
knife  on  the  cloth  to  save  time,  then 
't  is,  "  Wipe  thy  knife  dirty  on  the 
bread,  and  clean  upon  the  cloth ! " 
O,  small  of  soul  !  these  little  peevish 
pedantries  fall  chill  upon  good-fellow- 
ship, like  wee  icicles  a  melting  down 
from  strawen  eaves." 

"  I  hold  cleanliness  no  pedantry," 
said  Gerard.  "  Shouldst  learn  better 
manners  once  for  all." 

"  Nay.  'T  is  they  who  lack  man- 
ners. They  stop  a  fellow's  mouth  at 
every  word." 

"  At  every  other  word,  you  mean ; 
every  obscene  or  blasphemous  one." 


"  Exaggerator,  go  to  !  Why,  at 
the  very  last  of  these  dungeons,  I 
found  the  poor  travellers  sitting  all 
chilled  and  mute  round  one  shaveling, 
like  rogues  awaiting  their  turn  to  be 
hanged :  so,  to  cheer  them  up,  I  did 
but  cry  out,  '  Courage,  tout  le  monde, 
le  dia  — '  " 

"  Connu  !  what  befell  1  " 

"  Marry,  this.  '  Blaspheme  not  ! ' 
quoth  the  bourreau.  '  Plait-il  ? '  saj 
I.  Does  n't  he  wheel  and  wyte  on 
me  in  a  sort  of  Alsatian  French, 
turning  all  the  '  P's  '  into  '  B's  '  ?  I 
had  much  ado  not  to  laugh  in  his 
face." 

"  Being  thyself  unable  to  speak  ten 
words  of  his  language  without  a 
feult." 

"  Well,  all  the  world  ought  to  speak 
French.  What  avail  so  many  jargons 
except  to  put  a  frontier  atA\:.Kt  men's 
hearts  ?  " 

"  Rut  what  said  he?" 

"  What  signifies  it  what  a  fool 
says  ■?  " 

"  0,  not  all  the  words  of  a  fool  are 
folly,  or  I  should  not  listen  to  you." 

"  Well,  then,  he  said,  '  Such  as 
begin  by  making  free  with  the  Devil's 
name  aye  end  by  doing  it  with  all 
the  names  in  heaven.'  'Father,' 
said  I,  '  I  am  a  soldier,  and  this  is 
hut  my  "consigne"  or  watchword.' 
'  O,  then,  it  is  just  a  custom  ? '  said 
he.  I,  not  driving  the  old  fox,  and 
thinking  to  clear  myself,  said,  '  Ay, 
it  was.'  '  Then  that  is  ten  times 
worse,'  said  he.  '  'T  will  bring  him 
about  your  cars  one  of  these  days.  He 
still  comes  where  he  hears  his  name 
often  called.'  Observe  !  no  gratitude 
for  the  information  which  neither  his 
missals  nor  his  breviary  had  ever  let 
him  know.  Then  he  was  so  good  as 
to  tell  me,  soldiers  do  commonly  the 
crimes  for  which  all  other  men  arc 
broke  on  the  wheel ;  '  a  savoir/ 
murder,  rape,  and  pillage." 

"  And  is  't  not  true  t  " 

"  True  or  not,  it  was  ill  manners,' 
replied  Denys,  guardedly.  "  And  so 
says  this  courteous  host  of  mine, 
'  Being   the   foes   of   mankind,   why 


120 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  T!IE   HEARTH. 


make  ciu'inics  of  psod  spirits  into  the 
biirpain,  by  still  sjKJUtiii;;  the  names 
of  evil  OIKS  f '    nnd  a  lot  more  sttift'." 

"  Well,  l)iit  Denys,  wlietlier  yon 
hearken  his  rede,  or  sli^'ht  it,  where- 
fore blame  a  man  for  raising  his  voice 
to  save  yonr  sonl  !  " 

"  Uow  ran  his  voice  save  my  soul, 
when  he  keeps  turning  of  his  '  T's  ' 
into  '  B's  '  f  " 

Ueranl  was  sta^rfrercil ;  ere  he  couUI 
recover   at   this   thumlerbolt  of   (Jal- 
licisni,  Denys  went  triunii)hant  otf  at  1 
a  tangent,  and  stigmatized  idl  monks  \ 
as  liypocrites.  "  Do  bnt  look  «t  them,  j 
how  they  creep  about  and  cannot  eye 
yon  like  honest  men." 

"  Nay,"  said  (Jerard,  e:iger1y,  "  that 
modest,  downcast  ga/e  is  j)art  of  their 
discipline ;  't  is  '  cnstodia (Kidornm.'  " 

"  ('ussed  toads  eating  hoc  hiu-  hor- 
uni  >  No  snch  thing  ;  just  so  looks  a 
cut  purse.  Can't  meet  a  true  man's 
eye.  DofV  cowl,  monk,  and  l>chold, 
a  thief;  don  cowl,  thief,  ami  lo,  a 
monk.  Tell  nic  not  they  will  ever  U- 
able  to  look  (Jod  Almights  in  the 
fiice,  when  tiny  can't  even  look  a  true 
man  in  the  face  down  here.  Ah,  here 
it  is,  black  as  ink!  into  the  well  we 
go,  eonnadc.  Mise'ricorde,  there  goes 
the  tinkle  already.  "F  is  the  best  of 
tinkles  though  ;  't  is  for  dinner  :  stay, 
listen  !  I  thought  so ;  the  wolf  in 
my  stomach  cried  '  Amen  ! '  "  This 
last  statement  he  confirmed  with  two 
oaths,  and  marched  like  a  victorious 
gamecock  into  the  convent,  thinking 
l>y  (teranl's  silence  he  hail  convinced 
him,  and  not  dreaming  how  profound- 
ly he  had  disgusted  him. 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

In  the  refectory,  allusion  was  made 
at  the  table  where  Gerard  sat  to  the 
sudden  death  of  the  monk  who  had 
undertaken  to  write  out  fresh  copies 
of  the  charter  of  the  monastery,  and 
the  rule,  etc. 

Gerard  caught  this,  and  timidly  of- 
fered his  senices.     There  wa?  a  hesi- 


tation which  he  mistook.  "  Nny,  not 
for  hire,  my  lord-:,  j.ut  for  love,  and  aa 
a  trilling  return  for  many  a  good 
ni;:ht's  lodging  the  brethren  of  your 
order  have  bestowed  on  me,  a  |K»or 
wayfarer." 

A  monk  smilctl  approvingly  ;  but 
hinte<l  that  the  late  brother  wa'*  an 
excellent  ])enman,  and  his  work  could 
not  be  continued  but  by  a  iTUister. 
Cierard,  on  this,  da-w  from  his  wallet 
with  some  trepidation  a  vellum  deed, 
the  back  of  which  he  hml  cleaned  and 
written  u|K>n  by  way  of  specimen. 
The  monk  gave  quite  a  start  at  sight 
of  it,  and  very  hastily  went  up  the 
hall  to  the  high  table,  and  Ixnding 
his  knee  .so  as  just  to  toiuh  in  nass- 
ing  the  fifth  stcji  and  the  teutli,  or 
last,  [>resentcd  it  to  the  prior  with 
comments.  Instantly  a  dozen  know- 
ini;  eyes  were  fixed  on  it,  and  a  buzz 
of  voices  was  heani ;  and  sotjn  (jrcrard 
saw  the  jtrior  point  more  than  once, 
and  the  monk  came  back,  looking  as 
proud  as  I'unch,  with  a  savory  crus- 
tadc  rval,  or  game-pie  gravied  and 
spiced,  for  (Jerard,  and  a  silver  grace 
cup  full  of  rich  pimentuin.  This  lat- 
ter Gerard  took,  ami  Ixjwing  low,  first 
to  the  distant  prior,  then  to  his  own 
company,  ipialled,  and  circulated  the 
cup. 

Instantly,  to  his  surprise,  the  whole 
table  hailed  him  as  a  brother  :  "  Art 
convent-bred,  deny  it  not  ?  "  He 
acknowledged  it,  and  gave  Heaven 
thanks  for  it,  for  otherwise  he  had 
Ken  as  rutle  and  ignorant  as  his 
brothers,  Sybrandt  and  Comclis. 
"  But  't  is  passing  strange  how  yoa 
could  know,"  said  he. 

"  You  drank  with  the  cup  in  both 
hands,"  said  two  monks,  speaking 
together. 

The  voices  had  for  some  time  been 
loudish  round  a  table  at  the  bottom 
of  the  hall ;  but  presently  came  a 
burst  of  mirth  so  obstreperous  and 
prolonged  that  the  prior  sent  the  very 
sub-prior  all  down  the  hall  to  check 
it,  and  inflict  penance  on  every  monk 
at  the  table.  And  Gerard's  cheek 
burned  with  shame  :  for  in  tho  heart 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


121 


of  the  unruly  merriment  his  ear  had 
caught  the  word  "  courage  !  "  and  the 
trumpet  tones  oi"  Denys  of  Burgundy. 

Soon  Gerard  was  installed  in  fen 
Werter's  cell,  with  wax-lights,  and 
a  little  frame  that  could  be  set  at 
any  angle,  and  all  the  materials  of 
caligraphy.  The  work,  however,  was 
too  much  for  one  evening.  Then 
came  the  question,  how  could  he  ask 
Denys,  the  monk-hater,  to  stay  lon- 
ger ?  However,  he  told  him,  and  of- 
fered to  abide  by  his  decision.  He 
was  agreeably  surprised  when  Denys 
said,  graciously,  "A  day's  rest  will 
do  neither  of  us  harm.  Write  thou, 
and  I  '11  pass  the  time  as  I  may." 

Gerard's  work  was  vastly  admired  ; 
they  agreed  that  the  records  of  the 
monastery  had  gained  by  poor  Wer- 
ter's death.  The  sub-prior  forced  a 
rix-doUar  on  Gerard,  and  several 
brushes  and  colors  out  of  the  convent 
stock,  wiiich  was  very  large.  He  re- 
sumed his  march  warm  at  heart ;  for 
this  was  of  good  omen  ;  since  it  was 
on  the  pen  he  relied  to  make  his  for- 
tune and  recover  his  well-beloved. 
"  Come,  Denys,"  said  he,  good-hn- 
moredly,  "  see  what  the  good  monks 
have  given  me ;  now,  do  try  to  be 
fairer  to  them ;  for,  to  be  round  with 
you,  it  chilled  my  friendship  for  a  mo- 
ment to  hear  even  you  call  my  bene- 
factors '  hypocrites.'  " 

"  I  recant,"  says  Denys. 

"  Thank  you  !  thank  you  !  Good 
Denys." 

"  I  was  a  scumlous  vagabond." 

"  Nay,  nay,  say  not  so  neither  !  " 

"  But  we  soldiers  are  rude  and 
hasty.  I  give  myself  the  lie,  and  I 
offer  those  I  misunderstood  all  my 
esteem.  'T  is  unjust  that  thousands 
should  be  defamed  for  the  hypocrisy 
of  a  few." 

"  Now  are  you  reasonable.  You 
have  pondered  what  I  said  1  " 

"  Nay,  it  is  their  own  doing." 

Gerard  crowed  a  little ;  we  all  like 
to  be  proved  in  the  right ;  and  was  all 
attention  when  Denys  offered  to  re- 
late how  his  conversion  was  effected. 

"  Well,  then,  at  dinner  the  first  day, 


a  young  monk  beside  me  did  open  his 
jaws  and  laughed  right  out  most  mu- 
sically. '  Good,'  said  I,  '  at  last  I 
have  fallen  on  a  man  and  not  a  shorn 
ape.'  So,  to  sound  him  further,  I 
slapped  his  broad  back  and  adminis- 
tered my  consigne.  '  Heaven  forbid  ! ' 
says  he.  I  stared.  For  the  dog 
looked  as  sad  as  Solomon :  a  better 
mime  saw  you  never,  even  at  a  Mys- 
tery. '  I  see  war  is  no  sharpener  of 
the  wits,'  said  he.  '  What  are  the 
clergy  for  but  to  fight  the  foul  fiend  1 
and  what  else  are  monks  for  ? 

"  The  fiend  being  dead, 
The  friars  are  sped." 

You  may  plough  up  the  convents,  and 
we  poor  monks  shall  have  naught  to 
do  —  but  turn  soldiers,  and  so  bring 
him  to  life  again.'  Then  there  was  a 
great  laugh  at  my  expense.  '  Well, 
you  arc  the  monk  for  me,'  said  I. 
'And  you  arc  the  cross-bow-man  for 
me,'  quo'  he.  '  And  I  '11  be  bound  you 
could  tell  us  tales  of  the  war  should 
make  our  hair  stand  on  end.'  '  Ex- 
cusez  !  the  barber  has  put  that  out  of 
question,'  quoth  I,  and  then  I  had  the 
laugh." 

"  What  wretched  ribaldry  !  "  ob- 
served Gerard,  pensively. 

The  candid  Denys  at  once  admitted 
he  had  seen  merrier  jests  hatched  with 
less  cackle.  "  'T  was  a  great  matter 
to  have  got  rid  of  hypocrisy.  '  So,' 
said  I,  '  I  can  give  you  the  chaire  de 
poule,  if  that  may  content  ye.'  '  That 
we  will  see,'  was  the  cry,  and  a  signal 
went  round." 

Denys  then  related,  bursting  with 
glee,  how  at  bedtime  he  had  been  ta- 
ken to  a  cell  instead  of  the  great  dor- 
tour, and  strictly  foi'biddcn  to  sleep; 
and,  to  aid  his  vigil,  a  book  had  been 
lent  him  of  pictures  representing  a 
hundred  merry  adventures  of  monks 
in  pursuit  of  the  female  laity;  and 
how  in  due  course  he  had  been  taken 
out  barefooted  and  down  to  the  par- 
lor, where  was  a  supper  fit  for  the 
duke,  and  at  it  twelve  jolly  friars,  the 
roaringest  boys  he  had  ever  met  in 
peace  or  war.      How  the  story,  tho 


122 


THE  CLOISTEH   AND  THK   HEARTH. 


tna.Ht,  tlu'3<-it,  the  wintM-iip  haii  gont> 
riiiiml,  mill  .>«iiiii-  huil  tilavt'il  cunU, — 
vsith  u  t,'i>r;,'v«mH  \imK.  vhUvtv  Saint 
'riicrrtH,  ami  Saint  C'atharinr,  etc., 
l..-.li/tii«'<l  with  u«>l<l,  Mifxnl  fi)r  the 
(iMir  i|iu-.nx,  and  Mark,  whiti\  ^Tay. 
mill  c  rutrhitl  friunt  for  tin*  I'mir 
kriiivivn;  uiitl  hu<i  -(taki-il  t\'.- "■  >■' 
ri»taiii'^,  swcarini;  liko  tnx)|' 
thcv  lont.  Ami  how  alMuit  i 
a  iifv  monk  hiwl  Aloh-n  out,  l>ut  lt<4>i 
!»■  )>iin  ami  othrm  Inn-n  a.«  c-annily 
fiillowid  into  tlic  ^anli-n,  ami  ixvn  to 
tliriKt  hii  hnml  into  the  ivv  ami  out 
with  a  ri>|ic-la<liiiT.  Witli  thi<  In- 
liail  run  np  on  tlic  wall,  wliiiii  wai 
till  fo«t  hro.iii,  yet  not  >mi  niinhly  hut 
what  a  ru<vt  kirtic  huil  |m>ii|m-<I  up 
fruin  till-  iititiT  world  a.t  ({uick.  ai*  h<*  ; 
ami  K<>  to  liillin:;  nnd  <-iMiinK  ;  that 
thit  >itiinti<in  had  ^tnirk  him  a.<«  ratlu-r 
t'l-iim.*  thmi  rrcle.sia.^tiral,  and  drawn 
I'rnni  him  the  appmpriato  rommrnt 
of  a  ■' tncw !  "  The  monk^  had 
ioini*d  the  mew^ieal  rhonin.  and  the 
lay  vi»itor  shrieki-*!,  an<i  l»e»«n  non? 
di-.  ointitetl ;  but  Alwlani  only  criwi, 
"  NVImt,  are  ye  thire.  ve  jealoui 
miauling  knaves  '  ye  •diall  ratenvatd 
to  som.'  tune  to-morrow  ni;:ht.  I  '11 
fit  evi-ry  man-jark  of  ye  with  a  far- 
diiii;drtle."  That  this  brutal  thn-at 
had  nvoneileii  him  to  stay  anotlier 
day  — at  (ieranl's  request. 

(lerard  uroaimi 

.Mrantime.  unable  to  diwonrert  no 
bra/en  a  niunk.  and  thu  demois^dlc 
U'^intiinj;  to  whimper,  they  haii 
danced  caterwaulinK  in  a  circle,  then 
l)f>towed  a  solemn  l)ene<iiction  on  the 
two  walitliiwers.  and  off  to  the  par- 
lor, where  they  found  a  pair  Ivinij 
dead  <lriink,  and  other  two  ntTin-tion- 
ate  to  tears.  That  they  had  strai;;ht- 
way  carrieti  otV  the  inanimate,  antl 
dniirtjinl  off  the  lovinij  and  lachry- 
mose, kicked  them  all  merrily  each 
into  hi.s  cell, 

"  And  lo  shut  up  la  measureless  content." 

Gerard  wiv<  disp:usti'<l :  and  ."^aid  so. 

.Deny.^  chuckled,  and  proceeded  to 

tell  him  how  the  next  d:iy  lie  and  the 

young  muuks   hod   drawn    the   fish- 


poml.*  and  secrrted  much  pike,  rmrp^ 
tench,  and  e<-l  fur  their  own  u**: ;  and 
how  in  the  deaii  of  ni^'ht  ho  had  brm 
taken  shmdesit  by  crooked  wayit  into 
the  chaficl,  a  (;ho«tlike  placr,  brin|( 
dark,  nnd  then  <lown  some  otepit  into 
a  cry|>t  In-low  the  chapel  floor,  where 
suddenly  paraiiis4>  had  burtt  on  him. 

•■  "V  is  lien-  the  holy  fathers  retire  lo 
j>ray."  put  in  (ieranl. 

"  Not  alwav*,"  said  IVnys  ;  "  wax 
candles  by  tlnj  lioxen  wen-  li^htiii, 
and  princely  cheer ;  til"te«Mi  soufM 
mai;jre,  with  mar»elli)u«  twatipi  of 
%enisi)n,  ;,'roii!M",  and  hare  in  tltcin, 
and  twenty  dillerent  fishes  (U'ini;  ^f^- 
day),  cooke<l  with  wondntiis  art,  and 
each  he  U-twecn  two  buxom  laiis<v, 
and  each  la.s.s  iM-twecn  two  lads  with 
a  cowl  ;  all  but  me  :  and  to  think  I 
had  to  woo  by  intcqinner.  I  doubt  the 
knave  put  in  three  words  for  himself 
ami  one  for  me  :  if  he  did  n't,  hanj; 
him  for  a  fool.  And  some  of  tho 
weaker  ress«'ls  were  novices,  and  not 
wont  to  hold  f;o<Mi  wine  :  had  to  bo 
coaxed  en*  they  would  put  it  to  their 
white  t«"ctli  :  inais  elles  «'y  faisaient  ; 
and  ihi-  story  and  the  ji-st  nnd  tho 
cup  went  riiiind  (by  the  by,  they  hail 
rta;;onH  made  to  simulate  brevia- 
rit"!*);  nnd  a  monk  touche<l  tho  cit- 
teni,  nnd  sant;  dittica  with  a  roiro 
tunable  a.s  a  lark  in  sprini;.  The 
jiosiw  ilid  turn  the  faces  of  the  wo- 
men-folk bricht  n.Ml  nt  first :  but 
elles  .s'y  foi.saient."  Here  Gerard  cx- 
plo«led. 

"  MLserable  wretches!  Comipteri 
of  youth  !  rervcrters  of  innocence ! 
but  for  your  In-inj;  there,  Denys,  who 
have  been  taught  no  l»etter,  O,  would 
(ifKi  the  church  ha<l  fallen  on  tho 
whole  pane  !  Impious,  alx>minnblc 
hy|)ocrites  !  " 

"  Hy|)Ocrites  ?  "  cried  Denys,  with 
nnfeijrned  surprise.  "  Why,  that  is 
what  I  'clept  them  ere  I  knew  them, 
and  you  withstoo<l  me.  Nay,  they 
are  sinners  ;  all  <;oo<l  felbtwsan'  that : 
but,  by  St.  Denys  his  helmeteil  skull, 
no  hypocrites,  but  rij^ht  jolly  roaring 
blailes." 

"  Denys,"  said  Gerard,  solemnly,* 


THE  CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


123 


"you  little  know  the  peril  you  ran 
that  night.  That  church  you  defiled 
amongst  you  is  haunted :  I  had  it 
from  one  of  the  elder  monks.  The 
dead  walk  there,  their  light  feet  have 
been  heard  to  patter  o'er  the  stones." 

"  Mise'ricorde  !  "  whispered  Denys. 

"  Ay,  more,"  said  Gerard,  lowering 
his  voice  almost  to  a  whisper,  "celes- 
tial sounds  have  issued  from  the  pur- 
lieus of  that  very  crypt  you  turned 
into  a  tavern.  Voices  of  the  dead 
holding  unearthly  communion  have 
chilled  the  ear  of  midnight,  and  at 
times,  Denys,  the  faithful  in  their 
nightly  watches  have  even  heard  mu- 
sic from  dead  lips  ;  and  chords,  made 
by  no  mortal  finger,  swept  by  no 
mortal  hand,  have  rung  faintly,  like 
echoes,  deep  among  the  dead  in  those 
sacred  vaults." 

Denys  wore  a  look  of  dismay. 
"  Ugh !  if  I  had  known,  mules  and 
wain-ropes  had  not  hauled  me  thither ; 
and  so  "  (with  a  sigh)  "  I  had  lost  a 
merry  time." 

Whether  further  discussion  might 
have  thrown  any  more  light  upon 
these  ghostly  sounds,  who  can  tell  ? 
for  up  came  a  "bearded  brother" 
from  the  monastery,  spurring  his 
mule,  and  waving  a  piece  of  vellum 
in  his  hand.  It  was  the  deed  between 
Ghysbrecht  and  Floris  Brandt.  Ge- 
rard valued  it  deeply  as  a  remem- 
brance of  home ;  he  turned  pale  at 
first  but  to  think  he  had  so  nearly 
lost  it,  and,  to  Denys's  infinite  amuse- 
ment, not  only  gave  a  piece  of  money 
to  the  lay  brother,  but  kissed  the 
mule's  nose. 

"  I  '11  read  you  now,"  said  Gerard, 
"  were  you  twice  as  ill  written  ;  and, 
to  make  sure  of  never  losing  you  —  " 
here  he  sat  down,  and,  taking  out  nee- 
dle and  thread,  sewed  it  with  feminine 
dexterity  to  his  doublet,  and  his  mind 
and  heart  and  soul  were  away  to 
Sevcnbergen. 

They  reached  the  promised  land, 
and  Denys,  who  was  in  high  spirits, 
doffed  his  bonnet  to  all  the  females, 
who  courtesied  and  smiled  in  return  ; 
fired  his  consigne  at  most  of  the  men ; 


at  which  some  stared,  some  grinned, 
some  both ;  and  finally  landed  his 
friend  at  one  of  the  long-promised 
BurguniUan  inns. 

"  It  is  a  little  one,"  said  he,  "  but  I 
know  it  of  old  for  a  good  one  :  '  Les 
Trois  Poissons.'  But  what  is  this 
writ  up  ?  I  mind  not  this";  and  he 
pointed  to  an  inscription  that  ran 
across  the  whole  building  in  a  single 
line  of  huge  letters.  "  0,  I  see.  '  lei 
on  logo  a  pied  et  a  cheval,'  "  said 
Denys,  going  minutely  through  the 
inscription,  and  looking  bumptious 
when  he  had  effected  it. 

Gerard  did  look,  and  the  sentence 
in  question  ran  thus  :  — 

"ON  NE  LOGE  CEANS  A 
CR:feDIT;  CE  BONHOMME  EST 
MORT,  LES  MAUVAIS  PAL 
EURS  L'ONT   TUE." 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

They  met  the  landlord  in  the  pas 
sage. 

"  Welcome,  messieurs,"  said  he, 
taking  off  his  cap  with  a  low  bow. 

"  Come,  we  are  not  in  Germany," 
said  Gerard. 

In  the  public  room  they  found  the 
mistress,  a  buxom  woman  of  forty. 
She  courtesied  to  them  and  smiled 
right  cordially.  "  Give  yourself  the 
trouble  of  sitting  ye  down,  fair  sir," 
said  she  to  Gerard,  and  dusted  two 
chairs  with  her  apron,  not  that  they 
needed  it. 

"  Thank  you,  dame,"  said  Gerard. 
"  Well,"  thought  he,  "  this  is  a  polite 
nation  ;  the  trouble  of  sitting  down  ? 
That  will  I,  ^^hh  singular  patience  ; 
and  presently  the  labor  of  eating,  also 
the  toil  of  digestion,  and  finally,  by 
Hercules  his  aid,  the  strain  of  going 
to  bed,  and  the  struggle  of  sinking 
fast  asleep." 

"  Why,  Denys,  what  are  you  do- 
ing '?  ordering  supper  for  only  two  1 " 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  What,  can  we  sup  without  waiting 
for  forty  more  ?  Burgimdy  forever  !  " 


124 


THE  CLOISTF.n   AND   THi;   IIKAHTir. 


"  Aha  !  Coiiraprc,  canmrade.  Txj 
diii—  " 

"  CVst  convfini." 

Thf  saliqiii-  law  sccim-d  not  to  have 
IK'iK'tnUi'd  to  Fnufli  inns.  In  this 
OIK',  at  Iwist,  wimple  ami  kirtlc ni^iutl 
siii»ri'nK' ;  doublets  and  iioso  were  ti-w 
in  miniluT  and  fcehlo  in  act.  The 
landlord  himself  wandered  t)l>je«tless, 
eternally  takin;;  otl"  his  rap  to  folk  for 
want  of  thought  ;  and  the  wonun,  as 
they  nasiied  him  in  turn,  thrust  him 
quietly  luside  without  lookinj;  at  him, 
as  we  remtive  a  live  twi>;  in  hnstlin;; 
throu;,di  a  wiMjd. 

A  mai<l  hroii^ht  in  sup[H>r,  and  the 
mistress  followed  her  einjity-handed. 

"  Fall  to,  my  masters,"  said  she, 
cheerily,  "y'have  hut  one  enemv 
here,  and  he  lies  under  your  knife.  ' 
(I  shrewdly  susp«et  this  of  fonnu- 
la.) 

They  fell  to.  Tlic  mistress  drew 
her  eliair  a  little  towards  the  tahle, 
and  |)rovided  eom|)anv  as  well  as 
meat ;  yossi|H-d  ;jenialiv  with  tluin 
like  old  aei|uaintiine<-s  ;  liut,  this  form 
jjone  throu;;h,  the  busy  dame  was 
8<M)n  olf,  ami  sent  in  her  dau;;hter, 
n  l>eautiful  ymm^'  woman  of  al)out 
twenty,  who  took  the  vaeant  seat. 
She  was  not  ipiite  so  hroad  antl  j,'enial 
as  the  eliler,  hut  ;^'ntle  ami  eheerfid, 
anil  showed  a  womanly  tenderness 
for  (lerard  on  learninp:  the  distanee 
the  poor  lK>y  ha<l  come  and  had  to 
po.  She  stiiyed  nearly  half  an  hour, 
and,  when  she  lefl  them,  Gerard  said, 
"  This  an  inn  1  Why,  it  is  like 
homo." 

"  Qui  tit  Frani^ois  il  fit  courtois." 
said  Denys,  bursting  with  gratified 
pride. 

"  Courteous  ?  nay,  Christian  ;  to 
welcome  us  like  liomc  guests  and  old 
friends,  —  us  vagrants,  liere  to-day  and 
gone  to-morrow.  But,  indeed,  who 
better  merits  pity  and  kindness  than 
the  worn  traveller  far  from  his  folk  ! 
Hola  !  hero  's  another." 

The  new-comer  was  the  chamber- 
maid, a  woman  of  about  twenty-five, 
with  a  cocked  nose,  a  large,  laughing 
mouth,  and  a  sparkling  black  eye. 


and  a  bare  arm,  very  stoat,  but  no| 
very  shapely. 

The  moment  she  came  in,  one  of  the 
travellers  passed  a  somewhat  free  jest 
on  her;  the  next,  the  whole  eom|Niny 
were  roaring  at  his  e.\|K.'n.se,  so  swift- 
ly had  her  practised  tongue  done  his 
business ;  even  as,  in  a  pa.ssage  of 
amis  between  u  novice  and  a  master 
offence,  foils  clash,  —  novice  jiinked. 
On  this  another,  and  then  another, 
must  break  a  lance  with  her  ;  but 
Marion  stuck  her  great  arms  u])on 
her  haunches,  and  held  the  wholo 
room  in  play.  This  country  girl  pos- 
ses.sed  in  jK-rfeetion  that  rude  and 
ready  humor  which  looks  mean  and 
vulgar  on  paper,  but  carries  all  In'toro 
it  spoken  :  not  wit's  rapier,  its  blud- 
geon. Nature  hail  <ione  much  for  her 
in  this  way,  and  daily  practii-o  in  an 
inn  the  rest. 

Yet  shiUl  she  not  bo  photographed 
by  me,  but  fivbly  indicated ;  for  it 
was  just  four  hundre<l  years  ago  ; 
the  raillery  was  coars*.'.  slie  returned 
every  stroke  in  kind,  and.  though  a 
virtuous  woman,  said  things  with- 
out winking  which  no  decent  man 
of  our  day  would  say  even  among 
men. 

(lerard  .sat  gaping  with  astonish- 
ment. This  was  to  him  almost  a  new 
variety  of  "  that  interesting  si^'cies," 
homo.  He  whispered  Denys,  "  Now 
I  sec  why  yo\i  Frenchmen  say  '  a 
woman's  tongtie  is  her  sword '  "  :  just 
then  slic  levelletl  am)ther  as.sailant; 
and  the  chivalrous  Denys,  to  console 
and  support  the  "  weaker  vessel,"  tho 
iron  kettle  among  the  clay  pots,  ad- 
ministered his  consigne,  "  Courage, 
m'amic,-le  —  "  etc. 

She  turned  on  him  directly.  "  How 
can  /le  \>c  dead  as  long  as  there  is  an 
archer  left  alive?  (General  laughter 
at  her  ally's  expense.) 

"  It  is  '  washing-tlay,'  my  maatcrs," 
said  she,  ^vith  sudden  gravity. 

"  Apres  ?  "\Vc  travellers  cannot 
strip  and  go  bare  while  you  w:ush  our 
clothes,"  objected  a  peevish  old  I'ellow 
by  the  fireside,  who  had  kept  mum- 
chaucc  during  the  raillcrj,  but  crcjU 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


125 


out   into   the   sunshine   of  common- 
phices. 

"I  iiiracd  not  your  way,  ancient 
niiin,"  replied  Marion,  superciliously, 
'lint,  since  yon  ask  me"  (here  she 
■scanned  him  slowly  from  head  to  foot), 
"  I  trow  you  might  take  a  turn  in  the 
tub,  clothes  and  all,  and  no  harm 
done"  (laughter).  "But  what  I 
spoke  for,  I  thought  —  this  young 
I  sire  —  might  like  his  beard  starched." 
'  Poor  Gerard's  turn  had  come  ;  his 
chin  crop  was  thiu  and  silky. 

The  loudest  of  all  the  laughers 
this  time  was  the  traitor  Denys, 
whose  beard  was  of  a  good  length, 
and  singularly  stiff  and  bristly ;  so 
that  Shakespeare,  though  he  never 
saw  him,  hit  him  in  the  bull's  eye  :  — 

"  Full  of  strange  oaths,  and  bearded  like  the 
pard."  As  You  Like  It. 

Gerard  bore  the  Amazonian  satire 
mighty  calmly.  He  had  little  per- 
sonal vanity.  "  Nay,  '  Chambriere,' " 
said  he,  with  a  smile,  "  mine  is  all 
unworthy  your  pains ;  take  you  this 
fair  growth  in  hand !  "  and  he  pointed 
to  Denys's  vegetable. 

"  O,  time  for  that  when  I  s.tarch 
the  bosoms." 

Whilst  they  wei-e  all  shouting  over 
this  palpable  hit,  the  mistress  re- 
turned, and,  in  no  mpre  time  than  it 
took  her  to  cross  the  flireshold,  did 
our  Amazon  turn  to  a  seeming  Ma- 
donna, meek  and  mild. 

Mistresses  are  wonderful  subjuga- 
tors. Their  like,  I  think,  breathes  not 
on  the  globe.  Housemaids,  decide ! 
It  was  a  waste  of  histrionic  ability, 
though  ;  for  the  landlady  had  heard, 
and  did  not  at  heart  disapprove,  the 
peals  of  laughter. 

"  Ah,  Marion,  lass,"  said  she,  good- 
humoredly,  "  if  you  laid  me  an  egg  ev- 
ery time  you  cackle,  '  Les  Trois  Pois- 
sons '  would  never  lack  an  omelet." 

"  Now,  dame,"  said  Gerard,  "  what 
is  to  pay  ■? " 

"  What  for  1 " 

"  Our  supper." 

"  Where  is  the  hurry  ?  cannot  you 
be  content  to  pay  when  you  go  ?  lose 


the  guest,  find  the  money,  is  the  rule 
of  '  The  Three  Fish.'  " 

"  But,  dame,  outside  '  The  Three 
Fish  '  it  is  thus  written,  '  Ici  —  on 
ne  loge  — '  " 

"  Bah !  Let  that  flea  stick  on  the 
wall !  Look  hither,"  and  she  pointed 
to  the  smoky  ceiling,  which  was 
covered  with  hieroglyphics.  These 
were  accounts,  vulgo  scores ;  intel- 
ligible to  this  dame  and  her  daughter, 
who  wrote  them  at  need  by  simply 
mounting  a  low  stool,  and  scratching 
with  a  knife  so  as  to  show  lines  of 
ceiling  through  the  deposit  of  smoke. 
The  dame  explained  that  the  writing 
on  the  wall  was  put  there  to  frighten 
moneyless  folk  from  the  inn  alto- 
gether, or  to  be  acted  on  at  odd  times 
when  a  non-paying  face  should  come 
in  and  insist  on  being  served.  "  We 
can't  refuse  them  plump,  you  kn«w. 
The  law  forbids  us." 

"  And  how  know  you  mine  is  not 
such  a  face  ■?  " 

"  Out,  fie !  it  is  the  best  face  that 
has  entered  '  The  Thi-ee  Fish '  this 
autumn." 

"  And  mine,  dame  ?  "  said  Denys' 
"  dost  see  no  knavery  here  ?  " 

She  eyed  him  calmly.  "  Not  such 
a  good  one  as  the  lad's,  nor  ever 
will  be.  But  it  is  the  face  of  a  true 
man.  For  all  that,"  she  added,  dryly, 
"  an  I  were  ten  years  younger,  I  'd  as 
lieve  not  meet  that  face  on  a  dark 
night  too  far  from  home." 

Gerard  started.  Denys  laughed, 
"  Why,  dame,  I  would  but  sip  the 
night  dew  oft"  the  flower ;  and  you 
need  n't  take  ten  years  off,  nor  ten 
days,  to  be  worth  risking  a  scratched 
face  for." 

"  There,  our  mistress,"  said  Marion, 
wlio  had  just  come  in,  "  said  I  not 
t'other  day,  you  could  make  a  fool 
of  them  still,  an'  if  you  were  properly 
minded  1  " 

"  I  dare  say  ye  did  :  it  sounds  like 
some  daft  wench's  speech." 

"  Dame,"  said  Gerard,  "  this  is 
wonderful." 

"  What  ?  O  no,  no,  that  is  no 
wonder  at  all.     Why,  I  have  been 


ll-'G 


I  Hi:   CLOlSTKk   AM)    Mil;    liKAl:iH 


liere  nil  my  lifo  ■  nml  rcndinj;  faces 
is  the  first  tliin;^  u  (^irl  picks  up  in  ati 
iiiii." 

Marion.  "  And  fryinjr  fjrgs  the 
second;  no,  tillin;j  lies;  trying  egjfs 
is  till'  tliinl,  tliou;.'h." 

J'/ti  Mistresn.  "  And  holding;  her 
ton;;ue  the  last,  and  inixlesty  the  day 
niter  never  at  all." 

Marion.  "  Alack  !  Talk  of  my 
ton;;ue.  IJut  1  say  no  more.  She 
under  whose  win;,'  I  live  now  deals 
the  Mow.  I  'm  S|H.-tl  —  't  is  hut  a 
ehandK-rmaid  >;one.  Catch  what  'h 
left  on  't  !  "  and  she  Kta;:;;en.d  ami 
.sank  hark  wards  on  to  the  handsomest 
fellow  in  the  room,  which  haji|)i-ned 
to  he  (Jerard. 

"  Tic  !  —  tie  !  "  crie<l  he,  iHwishly  ; 
"  then-,  don't  Ik.-  stupid!  tliat  is  too 
heavy  a  jest  for  mc.  Sec  yt>u  not  I 
uin  talking;  to  the  mistress  ?  " 

Marion  resumed  her  ela.ifi(  ity  with 
a  ^'rimace ;  made  two  little  lM)und.H 
into  the  middle  of  the  floor,  ami  there 
turned  a  pirouette.  "  Tlure,  mis- 
tress," said  she,  '■  I  jrivt-  in,  't  is  you 
that  rii;,'ns  supreme  with  the  men  ; 
leastways  with  male  childnn." 

"  Youn;;  num."  said  the  mistress, 
"  this  trirl  is  not  so  stupid  as  her  <le- 
portment ;  in  readin;;  of  faces  and 
fryin;,'  of  omelets  there  we  are  t'reat. 
'T  would  be  hard  if  wc  failed  at  these 
arts,  since  they  arc  abuut  all  we  do 
know." 

"  Vou  do  not  quite  take  mc,  dame," 
said  (icranl.  "  That  honesty  in  a 
face  should  shine  forth  to  your  cx- 
perienecil  eye,  that  seems  reasona- 
l>le ;  hut  how,  hy  hK)kin;:  on  Denys 
here,  could  you  learn  his  one  little 
foihle,  his  insanity,  his  miserahle  mu- 
lierosity  ?  "  Poor  Gerard  got  angrier 
the  more  he  tliouirht  of  it. 

"  liis  mule  —  his  what  ?  "  (crossing 
herself  with  suj)erstitious  awe  at  the 
poly.-iyllahle.) 

"  Nay,  't  is  hut  the  word  I  was 
fain  to  invent  for  him." 

"  Invi-nt  .'  Wluit,  can  a  child  like 
vou  make  other  words  than  grow  in 
liurgundy  by  nature  ?  Take  heed 
what   ve  do !   why,  we  are  overrun 


with  them  already,  cspwially  bad 
ones.  Lord,  the.se  U-  times  !  I  l<M>k 
to  hear  of  a  new  thistle  invented  next.*' 

"  lint,  dame,  1  found  language  too 
poor  to  jiaint  him.  I  was  fain  to  in- 
vent. Vou  know  Necessity  is  the 
mother  of —  " 

"  Ay  !  av,  that  is  old  enough,  o' 
conscience. 

••  Well,  then,  dame,  mulierosc — • 
that  means  wrnpjKd  up,  body  ami 
soul,  in  women.  So,  prithee,  tell  me; 
how  did  yim  iver  deteet  the  noo<lle's 
nmlierosity  !  " 

"Alas!  gocnl  youth,  you  nnikc  a 
mountain  of  n  mole-hill.  W'v  that 
are  women  Ik-  notice-takers  ;  and  out 
of  the  tail  of  our  eye  see  more  than 
most  nun  can  glaring  through  a 
prosjK'ct  glass.  Whiles  I  move  to 
and  fro  doing  this  and  that,  my 
glance  is  still  on  my  guests,  and  1  u.d 
n<»tice  that  this  soldier's  eyes  were 
never  f>ff  the  women-folk  ;  my  daugh- 
ter, or  Marion,  or  ev«n  an  old  woman 
like  mc,  all  was  ^old  to  him  .  i.nd 
there  a  sat  glowering;  (>  you  foolish, 
foolish  man  !  Now  t/on  still  turned 
to  the  s|K-aker,  her  or  him,  and  that 
is  ctmimon  sense." 

Denys  burst  into  a  hoarse  laugh. 
"  You  never  were  more  out.  Why, 
this  silky,  smooth-faced  companion  is 
a  very  Turk,  —  all  but  his  l)card. 
lie  is  what-«r-ye-call-'cm-oser  than 
ere  an  archer  in  the  duke's  body- 
guard. He  is  more  wrapjK-d  up  in 
one  single  Dutch  lass,  ealled  Mar- 
garet, than  I  am  in  the  whole  bundle 
of  yc,  brown  and  fair." 

"  Man  alive,  that  is  just  the  con- 
trary," said  the  hostess.  "  Youm 
is  the  banc,  and  hisn  the  cure.  Cling 
vou  still  to  Margaret,  mv  dear.  I 
hope  she  is  an  honest  girl.  ' 

"  Dame,  she  is  an  angel." 

"  Ay,  ay,  they  arc  nil  that  till  better 
acquainted.  I  'd  as  lievc  have  her  no 
more  than  lujucst,  and  then  she  will 
serve  to  keep  you  out  of  worse  com- 
pany. As  for  you,  soldier,  there  is 
trouble  in  store  for  you.  Your  eyes 
were  never  made  for  the  good  of  your 
soul." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


127 


"Nor  of  his  pouch  eitKer,"  said 
Marion,  striking  in,  "  and  his  Hps 
thcr  will  sip  the  dew,  as  he  calls  it, 
off  many  a  bramble-bush." 

"  Overmuch  clack  !  Marion  ;  over- 
much clack." 

"  Ods  bodikins,  mistress  ;  ye  did  n't 
hire  me  to  be  one  o'  your  three  fishes, 
did  ye  1 "  and  Marion  sulked  thirty 
seconds. 

"  Is  that  the  way  to  speak  to  our 
mistress "? "  remonstrated  the  land- 
lord, who  had  slipped  in. 

"  Hold  your  whisht,"  said  his  wife, 
sharply  ;  "  it  is  not  your  business  to 
check  the  girl,  she  is  a  good  servant 
to  you." 

"  What,  is  the  cock  never  to  crow, 
and  the  hens  at  it  all  day  1  " 

"  You  can  crow  as  loud  as  you  like, 
my  man, — out  o' doors.  But  the 
hen  means  to  rule  the  roost." 

"  I  know  a  by-word  to  that  tunc," 
said  Gerard. 

"  Do  yc,  now  ?  out  wi'  't  then." 

"  '  Ferame  veut,  en  toute  saison, 
Estradame  en  sa  maison.'  " 

"  I  never  heard  it  afore  :  but  't  is  as 
sooth  as  gospel.  Ay  they  that  set 
these  by-words  a  rolling  had  eyes  and 
tongues,  and  tongues  and  eyes.  Be- 
fore all  the  world  give  me  an  old 
saw." 

"  And  me  a  young  husband,"  said 
Marion.  "  Now  there  was  a  chance  for 
you  all,  and  nobody  spoke.  0,  it  is  too 
late  now.     I  've  changed  my  mind." 

"  All  the  better  for  some  poor  fel- 
low," suggested  Denys. 

And  now  the  arrival  of  the  young 
mistiness,  or,  as  she  was  called,  the 
little  mistress,  was  the  signal  for 
them  all  to  draw  round  the  fire  like 
one  happy  family,  travellers,  host, 
hostess,  and  even  sen-ants  in  the 
outer  ring,  and  tell  stories  till  bed- 
time. And  Gerard  in  his  turn  told  a 
tremendous  one  out  of  his  repertory, 
a  MS.  collection  of  "  acts  of  the 
saints,"  and  made  them  all  shudder 
deliciously ;  hut  soon  after  began  to 
nod  ;  exhausted  by  the  effort,  I  should 
s«y.  The  young  mistress  saw,  and 
G* 


gave  Marion  a  look.  She  instantly 
lighted  a  rush,  and,  laying  her  hand 
on  Gerard's  shoulder,  invited  him  to 
follow  her.  She  showed  him  a  room 
where  were  two  nice  -svhite  beds,  ami 
bade  liim  choose.  "  Either  is  para 
disc,"  said  he.  "  I  '11  take  this  one, 
Do  you  know,  I  have  not  lain  in  a 
naked  bed  once  since  I  left  my  home 
in  Holland." 

"  Alack  !  poor  soul !  "  said  she  ; 
"  well,  then,  the  sooner  my  fiax  and 
your  down  (he!  he!)  come  together, 
the  better;  so  —  allons  !  "  and  she 
held  out  her  cheek  as  businesslike  as 
if  it  had  been  her  liand  for  a  fee. 

"  Allons  ?  what  does  that  mean  ? " 

"It  means 'good  night.'  Alioin! 
What,  don't  they  salute  the  chaiu  jcr- 
niaid  in  your  part  ?  " 

"  Not  all  in  a  moment." 

"  What,  do  they  make  a  business 
on  't  ?  " 

"  Nay,  perverter  of  words,  I  mean 
we  make  not  so  free  with  strange  wo- 
men." 

"  They  must  be  strange  women  if 
they  do  not  think  you  strange  fools 
then.  Here  is  a  coil.  Why,  all  the 
old  greasy  graybeards  that  lie  at  our 
inn  do  kiss  us  chambermaids ;  faugh  ! 
and  what  have  we  poor  wretches  to 
set  on  t'other  side  the  corapt,  but  now 
and  then  a  nice  young  —  1  Alack ! 
time  flies,  chambermaids  can't  be 
spared  long  in  the  nursery ;  so  how 
is  't  to  be  ?  " 

"  An 't  please  you,  arrange  with  my 
comrade  for  both.  He  is  mulierose ; 
I  am  not." 

"  Nay,  't  is  the  curb  he  will  want, 
not  the  spur.  Well,  well !  you  shall 
to  bed  without  paying  the  usual  toll ; 
and  0,  but  't  is  sweet  to  fall  in  with 
a  young  man  who  can  withstand  these 
ancient  ill  customs,  and  gainsay  bra- 
zen hussies.    Shalt  have  thy  reward." 

"  Thank  you  !  But  what  are  you 
doing  with  my  bed  ?  " 

"  Me  ■?  0,  only  taking  off  these 
sheets,  and  going  to  put  on  the  pair 
the  drunken  miller  slept  in  last  night." 

"  O  no,  no  !  You  cniel,  blacfc 
hearted  thing.     There  !  there  !  " 


198 


THE  CLOISTER   AND  THE  llEABTH. 


"  A  1«  bonne  hciire  !  What  will 
not  |M.T>>*'ViTun<'e  ft!e<-t  •  Hut  note 
now  the  t'nl^^ur<llll■!4H  of  a  Iiinil  «\i>tirli. 
I  (uriil  not  tor  't  n  tuttton.  I  uiii  iltiiil 
sick  of  tliikt  K|K>rt  iht^  five  vrar^.  Hut 
vou  di'iiivtl  iiic  ;  Ku  thiMi  forthwith  I 
iM-hoovfil  tu  huvo  it ;  lieliWc  hful  ;;one 
through  tire  and  wator  for  't.  Ala.-*, 
youiii;  sir,  wc  wonu-n  nro  kittle  cattle, 

Ixtor  jierverse  t'xult  ;  exfU'ks  u«,  and 
Leep  u.t  in  our  plaee,  Ravuir,  at  ami's 
Icni,'th  ;  and  i«o  jjo»h|  nii;ht !  " 

At  the  dut>r  »\to  tunie<l  and  »aid, 
with  a  rtJiiipleto  rhan;;o  of  tunc  and 
ntiinner:  "The  Virjjiu  (;uanl  thv 
lie. III.  mill  the  holy  K\anpdist.H  wateli 
till-  lied  where  Iu'h  u  |i«>or  yoiiiii,'  wan- 
derer far  front  home  !     Amen  !  " 

And  the  next  moment  he  heard  her 
run  tearing  down  the  stair*,  and  !Mw>n 
a  peal  of  hiu;;hter  from  the  lallo  Im"- 
travetl  her  wheri-alM)ut.t. 

'•  Now  tli.it  in  A  rlnirarter,"  Miid 
(Jerard,  profoundly  ;  and  yawned  over 
the  diHCovery. 

In  u  very  few  ininute<i  ho  wa'*  in  a 
dry   hath  of  cold,  rlean   linen,   incx- 

|)res!»il>ly  n'fn'.thinj;  to  him  after  no 
on^;  di^iiMC  ;  then  came  a  deliciuus 
glow  ;  and  then  —  S€vcnl)or(,fcn. 

In  the  mominp  ricrard  awoke  infi- 
nitely refnslied,  and  wiLs  for  ri-iinp. 
but  fouml  himjtflf  a  dose  prisoner. 
Hit  linen  hmi  vanishetl.  Now  thi.4 
was  paralysi.* ;  for  the  ni;;htcown  i.t 
a  nceiit  institution.  In  (ierord'mfn- 
tury,  and  indit^l  long  after,  men  did 
not  play  fiu<t  and  lixise  with  clean 
sheet.s  (when  they  could  pet  them), 
but  crept  into  them  clothed  with  — 
their  innocence,  like  Adam  ;  out  of 
l)od  they  socm  to  have  taken  most 
after  his  eldest  son. 

Geranl  bewailed  his  captivity  to 
Donys ;  but  that  instant  the  door 
opened,  and  in  sailed  Marion  with 
their  linen,  newly  washe<l  and  ironc<l, 
on  her  two  arms,  :ind  set  it  down  on 
the  table. 

"  O  you  good  girl,"  cried  Ge- 
ninl. 

"  Alack !  have  you  found  me  out 
at  last  ?  " 


'      "  Yc9  indeed.      Is  this  another  nm 
torn  T  " 

"  Nay,  not  to  take  them  unbidden ; 
but  at  night  we  aye  i|iK>ntion  travel- 
Urn,  are  they  for  linen  washed.  Ko  1 
came  in  to  you  ;  but  \ou  were  both 
MOund.  Then  oaiil  1  to  the  little  mi* 
tierts.  '  Im  !  where  is  the  nense  of 
wuking  wcarie<l  men.  t'  H.«k  them  is 
Charlet  the  (ireat  dead,  and  would 
they  liever  carrj'  foul  linen  or  clean, 
e»|M>cially  this  one  with  a  hkin  like 
cream.'  '  An<l  *o  he  ha*.  I  declare,' 
said  the  young  mistreAS." 

"  That  witH  me,"  remarked  iJenys^ 
with  the  air  of  a  commentator. 

"  Guess  once  more,  and  you  'II  hit 
the  mark." 

"  Notice  him  not,  Marion  ;  he  i«  an 

impudent  fellow  ;  and    I   am  sure  we 

cunnot   )x<   ^.'rateful   enough  for  your 

and    I  am  sorry    I   ever  nv 

—  an^  thing  _\  ou  fancied  yoa 

"  (),  nrv  ye  then"  f  "  .«aid  I'cwpiegle. 
"  I  take  that  to  mean  you  would  fain 
bru«h  the  moniing  <lew  oil',  as  your 
ba.'tliful  companion  cullit  it ;  well, 
then,  excuse  me.  't  is  ruttomnry,  but 
not  pruilcnt.  I  decline.  Quitn  with 
you,  lad." 

"Stop!  stop!"  cried  Dcnys,  as 
she  was  making  otT  \ictorioiis,  "  I  am 
curious  to  know  how  many  of  ye  were 
here  bust  ni^'bt  a  feasting  your  eye* 
on  us  twain." 

"  'T  was  so  satisfactory  a  feast  as 
we  were  n't  half  a  minute  ovrr't. 
Who  '  whv,  the  big  mistress,  the  little 
mistn-ss,  Janet,  and  me,  and  the  whole 
j>ossc  comitatus,  on  tiptcje.  We  mo<l- 
c.stly  make  our  rounds,  the  la.st  thing, 
not  to  get  burned  down  ;  and  in  pro- 
digious numl)cr3.  Somehow  that  niak- 
eth  us  Ixilder,  especially  vslicre  urehers 
lie  scattered  al)out." 

"  Why  did  not  you  tell  mc  1  I  'd 
have  lain  awake." 

"  Beau  sire,  the  saying  goes  that 
the  goo<l  and  the  ill  arc  all  one  while 
their  lids  are  closed.  So  we  said, 
'  Here  is  one  who  will  serve  God  liesj 
asleep.     Break  not  his  rest !  '  " 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


129 


"  She  is  funny,'"  said  Gerard,  dic- 
tatoi-ially. 

"  I  must  be  either  that  or  knav- 
isK." 

"  How  so  ?  " 

"  Because  '  The  Three  Fish  '  pay 
me  to  be  funny.  You  will  eat  before 
you  part  ?  Good  !  then  I  '11  go  see 
the  meat  be  fit  for  such  worshipful 
teeth." 

"  Denys  !  " 

"  What  is  your  will  ?  " 

"  I  wish  that  was  a  great  boy, 
and  going  along  with  us  to  keep  us 
cheery." 

"  So  do  not  I.  But  I  wish  it  was 
going  along  with  us  as  it  is." 

"  Now  Heaven  forefend  !  A  fine 
fool  you  would  make  of  yourself." 

They  broke  their  fist,  settled  their 
score,  and  said  farewell.  Then  it 
was  they  found  Marion  had  not  exag- 
gerated the  "  custom  of  the  coun- 
try." The  three  principal  women 
took  and  kissed  them  right  heartily, 
and  they  kissed  the  three  principal 
women.  The  landlord  took  and 
kissed  them,  and  they  kissed  the 
landlord  ;  and  the  cry  was  "  Come 
back,  the  sooner  the  better." 

"  Never  pass  '  The  Three  Fish  ' ; 
should  your  purses  be  void,  bring 
yourselves;  '  le  sieur  credit'  is  not 
dead  for  you." 

And  they  took  the  road  again. 

They  came  to  a  little  town,  and 
Denys  went  to  buy  shoes.  The  shop- 
keeper was  in  the  doonvay,  but  wide 
awake.  He  received  Denys  Avith  a 
bow  down  to  the  ground.  The  cus- 
tomer was  soon  fitted  and  followed  to 
the  street,  and  dismissed  with  grace- 
ful salutes  from  the  doorstep. 

The  friends  agreed  it  was  Ely- 
sium to  deal  with  such  a  shoemaker 
as  this.  "  Not  but  what  my  German 
shoes  have  lasted  well  enough,"  said 
Gerard  the  just. 

Outside  the  town  was  a  pebbled 
walk. 

"  This  is  to  keep  the  bui'ghcrs' 
feet  dry,  a  walking  o'  Sundays  with 


their  wives  and  daughters,"  said 
Denys. 

Those  simple  words  of  Denys,  one 
stroke  of  a  careless  tongue,  painted 
"  home  "  in  Gerard's  heart.  "  0, 
how  sweet !  "  said  he.  "  Mercy !  what 
is  this  ?  A  gibbet ;  and,  ugh,  two 
skeletons  thereon  !  O,  Denys,  what 
a  sorry  sight  to  woo  by  !  " 

"  Nay,"  said  Denys,  "  a  comforta- 
ble sight ;  for  every  rogue  i'  the  air 
there  is  one  the  less  afoot." 

A  little  farther  on  they  came  to 
two  pillars,  and  between  these  was  a 
huge  wheel  closely  studded  with  iron 
prongs  ;  and  entangled  in  these  were 
bones  and  fragments  of  cloth  misera- 
bly dispersed  over  the  wheel. 

Gerard  hid  his  face  in  his  hands. 
"  O,  to  think  those  patches  and  bones 
are  all  that  is  left  of  a  man  !  of  one 
who  was  what  we  are  now." 

"  Excusez  !  a  thing  that  went  on 
two  legs  and  stole ;  arc  we  no  more 
than  that  ?  " 

"  How  know  ye  lie  stole  ?  Have 
true  men  never  suffered  death  and 
torture  too  ?  " 

"  None  of  my  kith  ever  found  the 
way  to  the  gilibet,  I  know." 

"  The  better  their  luck.  Prithee 
how  died  the  saints  ?  " 

"  Hard.     But  not  in  Bui-gundy." 

"  Ye  massacred  them  wholesale  at 
Lyons,  and  that  is  on  Burgundy's 
threshold.  To  you  the  gibbet  proves 
the  crime,  because  you  read  not 
story.  Alas  !  had  you  stood  on  Cal- 
vary that  bloody  day  we  sigh  for  to 
this  hour,  I  tremble  to  think  you  had 
perhaps  shouted  for  joy  at  the  gibbet 
builded  there ;  for  the  cross  was  but  the 
Roman  gallows.  Father  Martin  says." 

"  The  blaspheming  old  hound  !  " 

"  O  fie !  fie !  a  holy  and  a  book- 
learned  man.  Ay,  Denys,  y'  had  read 
them  that  suffered  there  by  the  bare 
light  of  the  gibbet.  '  Drive  in  the 
nails!'  y' had  cried:  'drive  in  the 
spear !  Here  be  three  malefactors, 
three  "  roues."  Yet  of  those  little 
thi'ce  one  was  the  first  Christian 
saint,  and  another  was  the  Savioui 
of  the  world  which  gibbeted  him." 


130 


Till.   (  l.olsTKR   AND  TlIK   IIKAKTH. 


I)fnv!«  iLssiircil  him  on  hi*  honor, 
tln'v  iiian.ii;<'l  tJiiii;;t  UtiiT  in   Hiir- 

Jjlllltlv.     Ill-  ili|i|r<l  tiM),  uftiT  pnifitUllil 

rf(l«Tti<>t),    that    tho    h<»rn>n(    (frninl 
hnil  iilliiilfil   tu  liuil  inun-  thiin  oi)<  <^ 
iiiiuK'  hill)  cHT*i'  and  Rwcur  with  tm 
wlii-n    iolil   hv   the  cimm\  (-iirt!   in    L 
n.r  "  •    !■  ■         •■  ij„[ 

tl,  luitiitn. 

»i..;  .....:.. M-' 

lie  ma  viv,  k-t  u»  d 

or   at    h-a^t   !Mirc   •  i 

hut  ncc  huw  all  tiilc.->  guihci  A»  tlt>  V 

roll!" 

Thm  111"  ri  "  '  liti,  nml  nil  in 
II  inonimt  tn  'li  iru.     "  !)<) 

vo  not  lilush  ;  ,  .-•  ■■■:h  vnur  Uwik- 
rraft  on  your  unlrttrrnl  tricml,  nntl 
throw  ihMt  in  hit  cyi-s,  rvt-ninj;  tho 
MointJt  with  thr<«'  rvntilc*  •  " 

Thru  stuilili'tily  he  nvovcrv«l  hi* 
poo<l  •  humor.  "  Smiv  your  hrart 
bPAtfl  for  vonnin,  lW-1  for  thr  rurrion 
crow*  !  tlii'v  In'  11-1  K'>*>'1  vi-nniu  i" 
thi-v  :  would  \v  ii-ml  th«-in  to  linl  -n 
IxtIi-si,  |H)or  [)ri"tty  ipopjK-t.t  '  \\\ 
thrse  l>c  thoir  InnliT  :  thi>  i>anc»  o| 
huujjiT  wouhl  jjniiw  thi-m  Ai-ail  l»ut 
for  cold  cutpttnto  liun^  up  hcrv  ntui 
thcri'."" 

(icnird,  who  hud  for  some  tiinr 
iimiiitaimd  ii  doiul  silrnii',  inforniod 
him  tho  suhjix-t  wa.s  rIoM-d  U'twot-n 
thi  in  nnd  forovor.  "  There  arc 
thing's,"  .Huid  ho,  "  in  which  our 
htiirt.''  ."K-om  wide  n»  the  jioloi  nsun- 
dir,  nnd  oke  our  hondt.  Hut  I  lovo 
thi'o  donrly  nil  tho  snnu\"  ho  adde«l, 
with  intinito  }:r:iro  nnd  tondernosi. 

Towards  nltornoon  thoy  hoard  a 
faint  wnilin;;  noi.so  on  nhoud  ;  it  irrcw 
distinctor  as  thoy  pn>oix-<lotl.  Ileinp 
fast  walkers  thoy  wwn  ran»c  up  with 
its  cause ;  a  s«-orc  of  pikoinon,  ao- 
conipanied  by  several  i-on.'<tahlcs,  wore 
man  liiui;  nlont:,  and  in  ndvanre  of 
them  wiLs  a  herd  of  animals  they 
were  driving;.  These  creatures,  in 
numlK-r  rather  more  than  a  hundrcil, 
were  of  vario\is  a^es ;  only  very  few 
were  downritrht  old  ;  tho  males  were 
dowmast  and  silent.  It  was  the 
females  from  whom  all  the  outcry 
came.     In  other  words,  the  animals 


thus  driven  nlon^;  at  the  law  n  {loint 
won"  men  anil  «omi-n. 

■•(iixmI    Heaven!"    criitl    (ierard. 

"  Wlcit  a  hnmi  of  them  !    Hut  ittav, 

Mir.  !v    ull    tho!*o  children   cannot    fw 

why,  thoro  «n-  mtuir  in  nrm«. 

•  !i  earth  \»  thin.  l)cny<i  f  " 

Mted  liim  to  ask  that 
wiih  the  had;^'.  "  Thi» 
;  hero  a  ciul  <|uestion 
ijvd  n*ply." 

tit  up  to  the  officer,  and, 
ri'iiioviii^-  lit«  cap.  a  civililv  which  was 
immediately  rvtumoil,  iiniil,  "  For  Our 
I^idy's  .sake.  "lir.  what  do  yc  with 
ihi^c  [KMir  folk  '  " 

■■  Nay,  what  i«  that  to  you,  my 
lad  '  "  n<plie<i  thu  funetionar}',  *u>- 
picioosly. 

"  Master,  I  'm  a  mrunircr,  and 
athimt  for  knowled;^-." 

"  Tlinl  is  another  matter.  What 
ore  we  iloiiii;  '  ahem.  Whv.  wc  — 
!»-»  hear,  .Iiuijuos  •  Hero  is  a 
r  srckt  to  know  what  wc  arc 
and  the  two  machinm  were 
lici^lrd  that  there  ithould  U>  a  man 
who  did  not  know  somethin;;  thcv 
ha[iiM-ned  to  know.  In  ail  ap*s,  this 
hius  tickletl.  However,  the  chuckle 
was  hrief,  and  m<MlorBto<l  hy  their 
native  courtesy,  and  theotlicial  turned 
to  (ierard  airnin.  "  What  arc  wo 
doint;  '  hum  !  "  and  now  he  he«itated, 
not  Iroin  any  doiiht  as  to  what  he 
wai  iloinp,  hut  iM-cnuse  ho  was  hunt- 
in;;  for  a  sin;;le  wonl  that  should  con- 
vey the  matter. 

"Co  que  nous  faisons,  mon  parn  ? 
—  Mais  —  .lam  —  NOUS  TKANS- 
VASONS." 

"  You  divan t '  that  should  mean 
you  pour  from  one  vessel  to  an- 
other. 

"  Precisely."  He  explained  that 
last  year  the  town  of  Charmes  had 
l»oen  sore  thinned  hy  a  jHstilence, 
whole  houses  emptieil  and  trades 
short  of  hands.  Much  ailo  to  p-t  in 
the  rye,  and  the  fla.x  half  spoiled. 
So  the  bailiff  nnd  aldermen  had 
written  to  the  iltikc's  >e<T>'fary  ;  nnd 
the  duke  he  sent  far  and  wide  to 
know  what  town  was  too  full.    "  Thai 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH 


131 


are  we,"  had  the  baillie  of  Toul  writ 
back.  "  Tlien  send  four  or  five  score 
of  your  townsfolk,"  was  the  order. 
"  Was  not  this  to  decant  the  full 
town  into  the  empty,  and  is  not  the 
good  duke  the  fatlier  of  his  people, 
and  will  not  let  the  duchy  he  weak- 
ened, nor  its  fair  towns  laid  waste, 
by  sword  nor  pestilence ;  but  meets 
the  one  with  pike  and  arbalest  (touch- 
ing his  cap  to  the  sergeant  and  Denys 
alternately),  and  t'other  with  policy? 
LONG  LIVE  THE  DUKE  !  " 

The  pikemen,  of  course,  M'cre  not 
to  be  outdone  in  loyalty  ;  so  they 
shouted  with  stentorian  lungs, 
"  LONG  LIVE  THE  DUKE  !  " 
Then  the  decanted  ones,  partly  be- 
cause loyalty  was  a  non-reasoning 
sentiment  in  those  days,  partly,  per- 
haps, because  they  feared  some  fur- 
ther ill  consequence  should  they 
alone  be  mute,  raised  a  feeble,  trem- 
ulous shout,  "  Long  live  the  Duke  !  " 

But,  at  this,  insulted  nature  re- 
belled. Perhaps,  indeed,  the  sham 
sentiment  drew  out  the  real,  for,  on 
the  very  heels  of  that  loyal  noise,  a 
loud  and  piercing  wail  burst  from 
every  woman's  bosom,  and  a  deep, 
deep  groan  from  every  man's  ;  Oh  ! 
the  air  filled  in  a  moment  with  avo- 
manly  and  manly  anguish.  Judge 
what  it  must  have  been,  when  the 
rude  pikemen  halted  unbidden,  all 
confused,  as  if  a  wall  of  sorrow  had 
started  up  before  them. 

"  En  avant !  "  roared  tlie  sergeant, 
and  they  marched  again,  but  mutter- 
ing and  cursing. 

"  Ah,  the  ugly  sound  !  "  said  the 
civilian,  wincing.  "  Les  malheur- 
eux  !  "  cried  he,  ruefully  ;  for  where  is 
the  single  man  can  hear  the  sudden 
agony  of  a  multitude  and  not  be 
moved  ?  "  Les  ingrats !  They  are 
going  whence  they  were  de  trop  to 
wiiore  they  will  be  welcome,  from 
starvation  to  plenty,  —  and  they 
object  They  even  make  dismal 
noises.  One  would  think  we  were 
thrusting  them  forth  from  Burgun- 
iy." 

"  Come  away,"  whispered  Gerard, 


trembling ;  "  come  away,"  and  the 
friends  strode  fonvard. 

AVhen  they  passed  the  head  of  the 
column,  and  saw  the  men  walk  with 
their  eyes  bent  in  bitter  gloom  upon 
the  ground,  and  the  women,  sonic 
carrying,  some  leading,  little  children, 
and  weeping  as  they  went,  and  the 
poor  bairns,  some  frolicking,  some 
weeping  because  "their  mammies" 
wept,  Gerard  tried  hard  to  say  a 
word  of  comfort,  but  choked  and 
could  utter  nothing  to  the  mourners, 
but  gasped,  "  Come  on,  Denys.  I 
cannot  mock  such  sorrow  with  little 
words  of  comfort."  And  now,  artist- 
like, all  his  aim  was  to  get  swiftly  out 
of  the  grief  he  could  not  soothe.  He 
almost  ran,  not  to  hear  these  sighs 
and  sobs. 

"  Why,  mate,"  said  Denys,  "  art 
the  color  of  a  lemon.  Man  alive, 
take  not  other  folk's  troubles  to 
heart !  not  one  of  those  whining 
milksops  there  but  would  see  thee,  a 
stranger,  hanged  without  winking." 

Gerard  scarce  listened  to  him. 

"  Decant  them  ?  "  he  groaned  ; 
"  ay,  if  blood  were  no  thicker  than 
wine.  Princes,  ye  arc  wolves.  Poor 
things  !  Poor  things  !  Ah,  Denys  ! 
Denys  !  with  looking  on  their  grief 
mine  ovati  comes  home  to  me.  Well- 
a-day  !     Ah,  well-a-day  !  " 

"  Ay,  now  you  talk  reason.  That 
you,  poor  lad,  should  be  driven  all 
"the  way  from  Holland  to  Rome,  is 
pitiful  indeed.  But  these  snivelling 
curs,  where  is  their  hurt  ?  There  is 
six  score  of  'em  to  keep  one  another 
company  :  besides,  they  are^not  going 
out  of  Burgundy." 

"  Better  for  them  if  they  Imd  never 
been  in  it." 

"  Me'chant,  va  !  they  are  but  going 
from  one  village  to  another,  a  mule's 
journey  !  whilst  thou  —  there,  no 
more.  Courage,  camarade,  le  diable 
est  mort." 

Gerard  shook  his  head  very  doubt- 
fully, but  kept  silence  for  about  a  mile 
and  then  he  said  thoughtfully,  "  Ay, 
Denys,  but  then  I  am  sustained  by 
book-learning.    These  are  simple  folk 


U: 


TIIK  OLOISTKK  AND  THK  HEAKTIL 


that  likfly  thoni;lit  their  villajrc  waa 
the  world  :  now  what  is  this  f  inuro 
wirpiii;,'.  (',  t  is  u  swift  wiirlil  ! 
Hinii|>h  '  A  littlo  K>ri  tliat  liiith 
l.ri)Lc  her  |iipkiii.  Now  iiiay  I  huii;; 
<n  one  of  your  i:ihJx'ts  hut  1  'II  dry 
-omeJxHly's  tears  "  ;  and  ho  |inun<vd 
siviiirily  u|K)n  this  little  niariyr.  Iiki> 
I  kilo  on  a  chirk,  hut  with  nion- 
^-ineriius  intentions.  It  wits  a  pn-tty 
little  lass  of  alxnit  twilvo  ;  the  teani 
were  mining'  down  her  two  j>omdies, 
and  her  palms  liftol  to  heaven  in 
that  utter.  thou;,'h  teinixirary,  th-si*- 
i.itioii,  which  attetiiis  calamity  at 
I\vel\e  ;  and  at  her  feet  the  fatal  cause, 
u  hrokeii  |M)t,  worth,  say  the  lifthof  a 
mtMh-rn  farthing. 

'*  What,  hiust  hroken  thy  jMJt,  little 
one  f  "  said  (.ieranl,  acting  intvnsciit 
>ymi)alhy. 

■'  lle'las  !  Ik'I  i;ar* ;  as  yon  U-hold  "  ; 
and  the  hands  came  down  iVoin  the 
sk\  and  iMith  txiinted  nt  the  rraKmeiit.s. 
A  statuette  of  iwlversitv. 

"  And  you  weep  no  f'or  that  ?  " 

"  Needs  I  must,  bcl  fian.  My 
tnnnuny  will  massacre  me.  Do  they 
not  already  "  (with  a  fn-sh  hurst  of 
■wo<-)  "  c-CH'all  me  •KJ-Jcan-net-on 
C-t'-Cas.setout  ?  It  wanted  hut  this, 
that  I  should  hreak  my  ptnir  pot. 
Ilelas  !  fallnit-il  done,  Mere  du 
Dicu  >  " 

"  Courage,  little  love."  said  (Je- 
rnrd  :  "  't  is  not  thy  heart  lie;*  hroken  ; 
nioney  will  S4>on  mcnci  \f>l».  See 
now,  here  is  a  piece  of  silver,  and 
there,  M-aree  o  stone's  throw  off,  is  a 
potter  ;  take  the  hit  of  silver  to  him, 
and  huy  i^nother  pot.  and  tlic  copjKr 
the  potter  will  ;:ive  thee,  keep  that  to 
play  with  thy  conirades." 

'i'he  little  mind  took  in  nil  this, 
and  smiles  U";:an  to  strupjjlc  with 
the  tears  ;  hut  spasms  are  like  waves, 
they  cannot  po  down  the  verv  ino- 
njcnt  the  wind  of  trouble  is  lulled. 
So  Dcnys  thou;:ht  well  to  brinp  up 
his  R-serve  of  consolation.  "  Cou- 
raixe.  ma  inie,  lo  diahle  est  mort !  " 
cried  that  inventive  warrior,  irayly. 
Gerard  shru;r;;ed  his  .^lloulders  at 
8uch  a  way  of  cheering  a  little  girl. 


"  What  a  flo«  thiog 
U  a  lulc-  with  uae  ttrlof  ! " 

saiil  he. 

The  little  prl's  f.ice  hroko  intfl 
warm  sunshine. 

"O  the  pmhI  news!  O  the  K*x»d 
news  !  "  she  san^j  out  with  such  heart- 
felt joy  it  went  ot!"  into  a  honey «tl 
whine  ;  even  as  our  nuy  old  tunes 
ha\e  a  pathos  underneath.  "So 
then,"  .said  she,  "  they  will  no  lon;;er 
l)e  ahle  to  thn-atcn  us  little  >rirU  with 
him.  MAKING  Ol'U  LiVKS  A 
nrUDKN  !  "  And  .she  Umnded  off 
•'  to  tell  Nanette,"  she  .said. 

There  is  a  theory  that  everything 
ha.s  its  counterimrt ;  if  true,  Denys,  it 
would  seem,  hatl  found  the  mind  his 
consi^ne  fitted. 

While  he  wils  roarini;  with  laugh- 
ter at  its  unexiKcted  success  and 
(ieranls  luna/.emcnt,  a  little  hand 
pulled  his  jerkin,  and  a  little  face 
iK-i-jK-d  round  his  waist.  ('urii>sity 
was  now  the  dominant  passion  in 
that  small  hut  vivid  countenance. 

"  I'^t-co  tot  c|ui  I'a  tut5,  Ijcuu  sol- 
dnt  ?  " 

"  Oui,  mn  mie."  sniil  Denys,  as 
jrruffly  as  ever  he  could,  ri;.'htly  di-i'm- 
in;;  this  would  smack  of  su|M'niatural 
puissance  to  owners  of  liell-liko 
trebles.  "  C'est  moi.  C^  vaut  uno 
jtetitc  cinbra<sadc  —  j>as !  " 

"  Je  crois  U-n.     Aie  !  aie  !  " 

"  Qu'as-tu  '.  " 

"  Cti  pi(|ue  !  r'a  pique  !  " 

"  Quel  tlommojj^e  !  je  vais  la  cou- 
por." 

'•  Nenni,  cc  n'est  rien  ;  ct  plaque 
t'as  tue  IV  in<*chnnt.  T'es  fi{?reinent 
l>eau,  tout  d'meme,  toi  ;  t'es  ben 
miex  que  ma  p-ande  sMi-ur." 

"  Will  you  not  kiss  inc  too,  mil 
mie  1  "  said  (Jerard. 

"  Je  ne  deman<le  par  micx.  Tiens, 
tiens,  tiens !  c'est  donlce  cellc-ci. 
Ah  !  que  j'aimons  les  hommcs  !  Dcs 
fames,  911  nc  ni'aurait  jamais  donntf 
I'arjan  blanr.  plntot  <,"*  m'aurait  ri 
an  ne«.  Cost  si  ]>ou  do  chose,  li-s 
fames.  Serviteur.  l»caulx  sires  !  Bon 
voia^ ;  ct  n'oubliez  point  lu  Jeaa 
neton ! " 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


133 


"  Adieu,  petit  cccur,"  said  Gerard, 
and  on  they  marched ;  but  presently, 
looking  back,  they  saw  the  contemner 
of  women  in  the  middle  of  the  road 
making  them  a  reverence,  and  blow- 
ing them  kisses  with  little  May-morn- 
ing face. 

"  Come  on,"  cried  Gerard,  lustily. 
"  I  shall  win  to  Kome  yet.  Holy  St. 
Bavon,  what  a  sunbeam  of  innocence 
hath  shot  across  our  bloodthirsty 
road  !  Forget  thee,  little  Jeanneton  ? 
not  likely,  amidst  all  this  slobbering 
and  gibbeting  and  decanting.  Come 
on,  thou  laggard  !  forward  !  " 

"  Dost  call  this  marching  ?  "  re- 
monstrated Denys  ;  "  why,  we  shall 
walk  o'er  Christmas  day  and  never 
see  it." 

At  the  next  town  they  came  to, 
suddenly  an  arbalestricr  ran  out  of  a 
tavern  after  them,  and  in  a  moment 
his  beard  and  Denys's  were  like  two 
brushes  struck  together.  It  was  a 
comrade.  He  insisted  on  their  com- 
ing into  the  tavern  with  him,  and 
breaking  a  bottle  of  wine.  In  course 
of  conversation,  he  told  Denys  there 
was  an  insurrection  in  the  Duke's 
Flemish  provinces,  and  soldiers  were 
ordered  thither  from  all  parts  of  Bur- 
gundy. "  Indeed,  I  marvelled  to  see 
thy  face  turned  this  way." 

"  I  go  to  embrace  my  folk  that  I 
have  not  seen  these  three  years.  Ye 
can  quell  a  bit  of  a  rising  without  me, 
I  trow." 

Suddenly  Denys  gave  a  start. 
"  Dost  hear,  Gerard  ?  this  comrade 
is  bound  for  Holland." 

"  What  then  ?  ah,  a  letter  !  a  letter 
to  Margaret !  but  will  he  be  so  good, 
so  kind  ?  " 

The  soldier,  vrith  a  torrent  of  blas- 
phemy, informed  him  he  would  not 
only  take  it,  but  go  a  league  or  two 
out  of  his  way  to  do  it. 

In  an  instant  out  came  inkhom 
and  paper  from  Gerard's  wallet ;  and 
he  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Margaret, 
and  told  her  briefly  what  I  fear  I  have 
spun  too  tediously ;  dwelt  most  on 
the  bear,  and  the  plunge  in  the  Rhine, 
and  the  character  of  Denys,  whoj"  he 


painted  to  the  life;  and  with  many 
endearing  expressions  bade  her  be  of 
good  cheer ;  some  trouble  and  peril 
there  had  been,  but  all  that  was  over 
now,  and  his  only  grief  left  was  that 
he  could  not  hope  to  have  a  -word 
from  her  hand  till  he  should  reach 
Rome.  He  ended  with  comforting 
her  again  as  hard  as  he  could.  And 
so  absorbed  was  he  in  his  love  and 
his  work,  that  he  did  not  see  all  the 
people  in  the  room  were  standing 
peeping,  to  watch  the  nimble  and  true 
finger  execute  such  rare  penmanship. 

Denys,  pi-oud  of  his  friend's  skill, 
let  him  alone,  till  presently  the  writ- 
er's face  worked,  and  soon  the  scald- 
ing tears  began  to  run  down  his 
young  checks  one  after  another,  on 
the  paper  where  he  was  then  writing 
comfort,  comfort.  Then  Denys  rude- 
ly repulsed  the  curious,  and  asked  his 
comrade,  with  a  faltering  voice,  wheth- 
er he  had  the  heart  to  let  so  sweet 
a  love-letter  miscarry  ?  The  other 
swore  by  the  face  of  St.  Luke  he 
would  lose  the  forefinger  of  his  right 
hand  sooner. 

Seeing  him  so  ready,  Gerard  charged 
him  also  with  a  short,  cold  letter  to 
his  parents ;  and  in  it  he  drew  hastily 
with  his  pen  two  hands  gras])ing  each 
other,  to  signify  f^irewell.  By  the  by, 
one  drop  of  bitterness  found  its  way 
into  his  letter  to  Margaret.  "  I  write 
to  thee  alone,  and  to  those  who  love 
thee.  If  my  flesh  and  blood  care  to 
hear  news  of  me,  they  must  be  kind 
to  thee,  and  then  thou  mayst  read 
my  letter  to  them.  But  not  else,  and 
even  then  let  this  not  out  of  thy  hand, 
or  thou  lovest  me  not.  I  know  what 
I  ask  of  thee,  and  why  I  ask  it.  Thou 
knowest  not.  I  am  older  now  by 
many  years  than  thou  art,  and  I  was 
a  month  agone.  Therefore  obey  me 
in  this  one  thing,  dear  heart,  or  thou 
wilt  make  me  a  worse  Avife  than  I 
hope  to  make  thee  a  husband,  God 
willing." 

On  second  thoughts,  I  believe  there 
was  something  more  than  bitterness 
in  this.  For  his  mind,  young  but  in- 
tense, had  been  bent  many  hours  in 


13-1 


THE  CLOISTER    AND  THK   IIKARTII. 


every  'Iny  ii{K>n  Si-venlxTRen  and 
Ter;^ni,  iiiul  ft|»eculiiteil  «iii  every 
ehiiiii,'e  of  t't'eliii;:  iiiiil  eireiuii'«tunec 
tliiit  til-'  exili"  iiii;.'tit  liriii;,'  iitxiut. 

(ierunl  now  (itlin'<l  immey  to  tlie 
solilier.  lie  lie.sitateil,  l>iit  decliin  il 
it.  "  No,  ni) !  art  ruinrade  of  my 
eoiiiniile  ;  and  miiy  —  (etc. )  —  hut 
fliv  love  for  llie  wench  toiiehe.n  me. 
I  ll  l.r.iik  iinotlier  Jxittlu  iit tliy  ehiir;,i', 
ikii  tlioii  wilt,  und  .so  cry  (juit-H. 

"  Well  Haid,eoiunide,"crieiI  Deny.-*. 
"  Iliidst  tukeii  money,  I  had  iiivite<l 
tlice  to  walk  in  the  eoiirt-yard  and 
erojt.H  .Hwordn  with  me. 

"  Wher«'n|M>n  I  had  cut  thy  (u>mb 
for  tii<-e,"  retorteil  the  other. 

"  lliul-it  done  thy  endeavor,  drulc,  I 
doiilit  noU 

Tin  y  drank  the  new  IxittU-,  »h<Kik 
liand.H,  adlu-n'<l  to  eu.stom,  and  iMirteil 
un  o|)[M>site  route.t. 

Tliis  dehiy,  liowever,  somewhat  put 
out  Deuvs'sealeulatioris,  and  evenm;; 
surprised  them  ere  they  reaeh*-*!  a  lit- 
tle town  he  wat  makin::  for.  when- 
was  a  famous  hotid.  However,  they 
fell  in  with  a  road>«iile  aulnr^e,  and 
peny.s,  sc«-in;;  a  huxom  K'\r\  at  the 
door,  «aid,  "  Tliis  s<vn»s  a  decent 
inn,"  ^nd  leil  the  way  into  the  kiteh- 
en.  They  ordered  sujifK-r,  to  whieh 
no  olijeetion  was  raised,  only  the 
laiidlonl  reipie^ted  them  to  pay  for  it 
In-forehand.  It  was  not  an  uncom- 
mon proposal  in  any  part  of  the 
world.  Mill  it  v»as  not  universal, 
and  Dcnys  was  uettleil,  and  ilashed 
his  hand  sonu-what  ostentatiously  in- 
to his  pur>e,  and  pulled  out  a  p)ld 
an;.'el.  "  Count  n>e  the  clian;;e,  and 
.speedily,"  said  he.  "  Vou  tavern- 
keepers  are  more  likely  to  rob  me 
than  I  you." 

While  the  supper  was  proparinj;, 
Deuys  disappeared,  and  was  eventu- 
ally found  by  (ierard  in  the  yard, 
lu'lpiui:  Manun,  his  jilump  but  not 
bri;,'ht  decoy-thiek,  to  draw  water, 
and  pourin<r  extrava^rant  compli- 
ments into  her  dullish  ear.  Gerard 
<:runted  and  returned  to  table,  but 
Denys  did  not  come  in  for  a  good 
quarter  of  an  hour. 


"  ITp-hill  work  at  tlic  end  of  • 
marcii,"  said  lie,  shru;,';;in;j  his  shoul- 
ders. 

"  What  mattent  that  to  you  '  "i»aid 
(ierard,  ilryl v.  *'  The  mad  do;;  bite* 
all  the  worlil." 

•'  Kxauuerator.  You  know  I  hito 
but  the  fairer  half.  Well,  here  comes 
sui'iK-r  ;  that  is  J>otter  worth  bitinjj." 

l)urin;;  sup|HT,  the  ^irl  kept  con- 
stantly comiii;.'  in  aiul  out  and  l<M)k- 
iui;  |H)int-blank  at  them,  esiK-«-ially 
at  Denys;  an*l  at  last,  in  leaning 
over  him  to  remove  a  di*h,  dropiie<l 
a  word  in  his  ear,  and  he  replie<l 
with  a  niMl. 

As  MM)n  as  .Hupper  was  clearetl 
awav,  Denvs  rose  ami  strolled  to  the 
d<Mir,  tellin;,'  (ierard  the  sullen  fair 
had  relented,  and  ^'iveu  him  a  little 
remleivous  in  the  stable-yard. 

lieranl  su;x«'-'*ted  that  the  cow- 
house would  have  Ikm-ii  a  more  aj>- 
nropriate  liKality.  "  I  hhiill  po  to 
UmI,  then,"  said  ho.  a  little  cnnsly. 
"  Where  is  the  landlonl  '  out  at  t\m 
time  of  ni;:ht  '  no  nialter.  I  know 
our  HMim.   Shall  you  Ik-Ioii;,'.  |)ray  '■  " 

"  Not  I.  I  fr''ud;r»'  Iciivin;;  the  fir« 
and  thee.  But  what  can  I  ilo  '  there 
arc  two  S4»rts  of  invitations  a  Hur- 
pindian  never  declines." 

Denvs  found  a  ti;rure  seateil  by  the 
well.  It  was  Man(»n  ;  but  instead  <»f 
rt-eeivini;  him  as  he  tlK)u;rht  he  had  a 
ri>;ht  toexjKvt.  iomin;;  by  invitation, 
all  she  did  was  to  sob.  He  asked  her 
what  ailed  her  '  She  soblx><l.  Could 
he  do  anythint;  for  her  '    She  soblicii. 

The  i;ood-nature<l  Denys,  drivetj  to 
his  wit's  enil.  whieh  was  no  ^'reat  dis- 
tance, prr>tl"ered  the  custom  of  tho 
countrv  by  way  of  eousolaticm.  She 
repulsed  him  roujrhly.  "  Is  thi.s  a  tinjo 
for  f(X)linK  f  "  said  she,  and  sobbed. 

"  You  seem  to  think  so,"  said 
Denys,  waxiiiL'  wroth.  Hut  the  next 
moment  he  added,  tenderly,  "  And  I 
who  could  never  l)ear  to  see  Injauty  in 
distress." 

"  It  is  not  for  myself." 

"  Who  then  ?  your  sweetheart  '  " 

"  Oh,  que  nenni.  My  sweetheart  ia 
not  on   earth  now ;  and  to  think   I 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


135 


have  not  an  ecu  to  buy  masses  for  his 
soul  "  ;  and  in  tliis  shallow  nature  the 
grief  seemed  now  to  be  all  turned  in 
another  direction. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Denys,  "  shalt 
have  money  to  buy  masses  for  thy 
dead  lad  ;  I  swear  it.  Meantime  tell 
me  why  you  weep." 

"  For  you." 

"  For  me  ?     Art  mad  1 " 

"  No.  I  am  not  mad.  'T  is  you 
that  were  mad  to  open  your  purse  be- 
fore him." 

The  mystery  seemed  to  thicken, 
and  Denys,  wearied  of  stirring  up  the 
mud  by  questions,  held  his  peace  to 
see  if  it  would  not  clear  of  itself 
Then  the  girl,  finding  herself  no 
longer  questioned,  seemed  to  go 
through  some  internal  combat.  At 
last  she  said,  doggedly  and  aloud, 
"  I  will.  The  Virgin  gave  me  cour- 
age !  "What  matters  it  if  they  kill 
me,  since  he  is  dead '?  Soldier,  the 
landlord  is  out." 

"O,  is  he?" 

"  What,  do  landlords  leave  their 
taverns  at  this  time  of  night  ?  also  see 
what  a  tempest !  We  are  sheltered 
here,  but  t'other  side  it  blows  a  hur- 
ricane." 

Denys  said  nothing. 

"  He  is  gone  to  fetch  the  band." 

"  The  band  !  what  band  ?  " 

"  Those  who  will  cut  your  throat 
and  take  your  gold.  Wretched  man, 
to  go  and  shake  gold  in  an  innkeep- 
er's face !  " 

The  blow  came  so  unexpectedly,  it 
staggered  even  Denys,  accustomed  as 
he  was  to  sudden  perils.  He  mut- 
tered a  single  word,  but  in  it  a  vol- 
ume. 

"  Gerard  !  " 

"  Gerard  !  What  is  that  ?  0,  't  is 
thy  comrade's  name,  poor  lad  !  Get 
him  out  quick  ere  they  come,  and  fly 
to  the  next  town." 

"  And  thou  ?  " 

"  They  will  kill  me." 

"  That  they  shall  not.  Fly  with 
us." 

"  'T  will  avail  me  naught ;  one  of 
the  band  will   be  sent  to   kill  me. 


They  are  sworn  to  slay  all  m'Iio  be 
tray  them." 

"  I  '11  take  thee  to  my  native  place, 
full  thirty  leagues  from  hence,  and 
put  thee  under  my  o\\ti  mother's 
wing,  ere  they  shall  hurt  a  hair  o'  thy 
head.  But  lirst  Gerard.  Stay  thou 
here  whilst  I  fetch  him." 

As  he  was  darting  off,  tlie  giil 
seized  him  convulsively,  and  with  all 
the  iron  strength  excitement  lends  to 
women.  "  Stay  me  not !  for  pity's 
sake,"  he  cried ;  "  't  is  life  or  death." 

"  'Sh  !  —  'sh  !  "  whispered  the  girl, 
shutting  his  mouth  hard  with  her 
hand,  and  putting  her  pale  lips  close 
to  liim,  and  her  eyes,  tliat  seemed  to 
turn  backwards,  straining  towards 
some  indistinct   sound. 

He  listened. 

He  heard  footsteps,  many  footsteps ; 
and  no  voices.  She  whispered  in  his 
ear  "  They  ake  come,"  and  trem- 
bled like  a  leaf. 

Denj's  felt  it  was  so.  Travellers  in 
that  number  would  never  have  come 
in  dead  silence. 

The  feet  were  now  at  the  very 
door. 

"  How  many  1  "  said  he,  in  a  hol- 
low whisper. 

"  Hush  !  "  and  she  put  her  mouth 
to  his  very  ear. 

And  who,  that  had  seen  this  man 
and  woman  in  that  attitude  would 
have  guessed  what  freezing  hearts 
were  theirs,  and  what  terrible  whis- 
pers passed  between  them  ? 

"  Seven." 

"  How  armed  ?  " 

"  Sword  and  dagger  ;  and  the  giant 
with  his  axe.  They  call  him  the 
Abbot." 

"  And  my  comrade  ?  " 

"  Nothing  can  save  him.  Better 
lose  one  life  than  two.     Fly  !  " 

Denys's  blood  froze  at  this  cynical 
advice.  "  Poor  creature,  you  know 
not  a  soldier's  heart." 

He  pvit  his  head  in  his  hands  a 
moment,  and  a  hundred  thoughts  of 
dangers  baffled  whirled  through  his 
brain. 

"  Listen,  girl !  There  is  one  chance 


136 


THK  CLOISTER   AND   TIIK   UKARTH. 


for  oar  lives,  if  thou  wilt  but  be  true 
to  ut.  Kill)  til  the  town ;  tu  the 
nriiri->t  tii\<Tii,  tkinl  tell  the  tlrst  sol- 
dier tliin-  iliat  11  >oliliir  hen-  is  sore 
lieset,  liut  iirineil,  uiid  hi.4  life  to  In' 
Biivni  if  they  «iil  but  run.  Then  to 
the  builitr  But  Jintt  to  the  .soMiers. 
Niiv,  not  a  word,  but  buM  me,  m»o«I 
la.ss,  nnd  Hy  !  iiien'it  lives  liauK  oil 
thy  liefU." 

She  kiltinl  up  her  p<\vn  id  run. 
lie  eame  round  to  the  roud  with  her  ; 
saw  luT  ero-tt  thf  road  erint'in^j  with 
fear,  then  i,'liiie  away,  tlien  tuni  iulti 
an  envt  shadow,  then  luelt  away  in 
the  stonn. 

Aiiil  now  he  must  t;et  to  Geranl. 
Hut  how  '  lie  had  to  run  the  ^nunt- 
ht  of  the  whole  liand.  lie  u-sked 
himself  what  \va.s  the  worst  thin^ 
they  could  <lo  '  for  he  had  learnitl 
in  war  that  an  eni-my  does,  not  what 
vou  ho|>o  he  will  do,  but  what  you 
lii>]M>  he  will  not  do.  "  Attaek  me  wt 
I  enter  the  kitehen  !  Then  I  must 
not  i:i\e  them  time." 

.Iii-it  !i>  Iw  ilrew  near  to  the  latch,  a 
terrible  tlioui;ht  eros.,e<l  him.  "  Sup- 
|iose  they  luul  already  dealt  with 
(leranl.  Why,  then,"  thoujjht  he, 
"naught  i.s  left  but  to  kill,  and  l>e 
killinl  '■  ;  and  he  strun;:  his  Ikjw,  and 
walked  rapidly  into  the  kitehen. 
There  wen*  seven  liideous  faees  seated 
round  the  fin-,  and  the  landlord  pour- 
in;;  them  out  neat  lirantly,  blood's 
lorerunner  in  every  ape. 

"  What  ?  company  !  "  cric<l  Denys, 
^'avly ;  "  one  mmute,  mv  lads,  ami 
1  'il  be  with  you  "  ;  and  lie  snatehe<l 
up  a  lij:hteii  candle  oft'  the  table, 
o|KMied  the  door  that  led  to  the 
staircase,  and  went  up  it  halloin;;. 
"  What,  Gerard  !  whither  ha.st  thou 
skulked  to  ?  "  There  was  no  answer. 
He  lialloe<l  louder,  "  Gerard,  where 
art  thou  ?  " 

.Vfter  a  moment,  in  which  Dcnys 
lived  an  hour  in  a;.'ony,  a  i>ccvish, 
lialfinarticulate  noise  issued  from  the 
room  at  the  head  of  the  little  stairs. 
Dcnys  burst  in,  and  there  was  Gerard 
fislcep. 

"  Thank  God  '  "  he  said,  in  a  chok- 


ing voice  ;  then  be^an  to  sinj;  lood, 
untuneful  ditties.  Cieranl  put  hi* 
tin;;ers  into  his  ears  ;  Imt  pres^-utly 
he  .«aw  in  I)en_\.i'»  I'arc  a  hurnir  that 
contrasted  strunp.-ly  with  tlii.^  sudden 
merriment. 

"  What  ailii  thev  !  "  said  he,  sitting 
up  aiul  staring;. 

"  Hush !  "  oaid  Dcnys,  luid  hiit 
hand  s(Mike  even  more  plainly  than 
his  |i|M.     ••  Listen  li>  nte.  ' 

Deny.H  then  |Hiintin;r  si(;TiificnntIy 
to  the  door,  to  nhow  (ieranl  sluirp 
earn  wen-  listenin;;  hanl  by,  euntin- 
U(>4l  his  Konp  aloiul,  but  under  cover 
of  it  threw  in  hhort  muttered  svlU* 
bles. 

"  (Our  lives  are  in  peril.) 

"  (Thieves.) 

"(Thy  th.ublet.) 

"  (Thv  .sword.) 

"  Aid.' 

"  Cuming. 

"  Put  t)ft*  time."     Then  aloud  :  — 

"  Well,  now,  wilt  have  t'other  bot- 
tle •     l^^ay  nav.]  " 

"  No,  iu<t  I. 

"  But  I  tell  thw  then>  arc  half  a 
dozen  jolly  fellows.     (Tired.)  " 

"  Ay,  but  I  am  tiK)  wcaric<l,"  said 
(Jerard.     "  (io  thou." 

"  Nay,  nay  !  "  Tlien  lie  went  to 
the  door  and  called  out  cheerfully, 
"  Landlord,  the  youn;;  milksop  will 
not  rist'.  Give  those  honest  fellows 
t'other  l)ottlc.  1  will  pay  for  't  in  the 
inonunp." 

lie  heard  a  brutal  and  fierce 
chuckle. 

Ilavinjr  thus  by  observation  made 
sure  the  kitchen  drwjr  was  shut,  and 
the  miscreants  were  not  actually  lis- 
tenin;;. he  examined  the  chamber 
door  closely ;  then  quietly  shut  it, 
but  did  not  l>olt  it,  and  went  and  in- 
spected the  window. 

It  wa.s  to<j  small  to  pot  out  of,  and 
yet  a  thick  bar  of  iron  hail  lieen  let 
in  the  stone  to  make  it  smaller ;  and, 
just  as  he  made  this  chilling  dis- 
covery,  the  outer  door  of  the  house 
was  bolted  with  a  loud  clang:. 

Dcnys  proaned  ;  "  The  beasts  are 
in  the  shambles." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND   THE  HEARTH. 


137 


But  would  the  thieves  attack  them 
while  they  were  awake  ?  Probahly 
not. 

Not  to  throw  away  this  their  best 
chance,  the  poor  souls  now  made  a 
series  of  desperate  efforts  to  con^'erse 
as  if  discussing  ordinary  matters, 
and  by  this  means  Gerard  learned  all 
that  had  passed,  and  that  the  girl  was 
gone  for  aid. 

"  Pray  Heaven  she  may  not  lose 
heart  by  the  way,"  said  Denys,  sor- 
rowfully. 

And  Denys  begged  Gerard's  for- 
giveness for  bringing  him  out  of  his 
way  for  this.     Gerard  forgave  him. 

"  I  would  fear  them  less,  Gerard, 
but  for  one  they  call  the  Abbot.  I 
picked  him  out  at  once.  Taller  than 
you,  bigger  than  us  both  put  to- 
gether. Fights  with  an  axe.  Gerard, 
a  man  to  lead  a  herd  of  deer  to  bat- 
tle. I  shall  kill  that  man  to-night, 
or  he  will  kill  me.  I  think  somehow 
't  is  he  will  kill  me." 

"  Saints  forbid  !  Shoot  him  at  the 
door!  What  avails  his  strength 
against  your  weapon  ?  " 

"  I  shall  pick  him  out ;  but,  if  it 
comes  to  hand-fighting,  run  swiftly 
under  his  guard,  or  you  are  a  dead 
man.  I  tell  thee  neither  of  us  may 
stand  a  blow  of  that  axe ;  thou  never 
sawest  such  a  body  of  a  man." 

Gerard  was  for  bolting  the  door ; 
but  Denys  with  a  sigh  showed  him 
that  half  the  door-post  turned  out- 
ward on  a  hinge,  and  the  great  bolt 
was  little  more  than  a  blind.  "  I 
have  forborne  to  bolt  it,"  said  he, 
"  that  they  may  think  us  the  less 
suspicious." 

Near  an  hour  rolled  away  thus.  It 
seemed  an  age.  Yet  it  was  but  a 
little  hour ;  and  the  to^vn  was  a 
leagi;e  distant.  And  some  of  the 
voices  in  the  kitchen  became  angry 
and  impatient. 

"  They  will  not  wait  much  longer," 
said  Denys,  "  and  we  have  no  chance 
at  all  unless  we  surprise  them." 

"  I  yn\l  do  whate'er  you  bid,"  said 
Gerard,  meekly. 

There  was  a  cupboard  on  the  same 


side  as  the  door,  but  between  it  and 
the  window.  It  reached  nearly  to  the 
ground,  but  not  quite.  Denys  opened 
the  cupboard  door  and  placed  Gerard 
on  a  chair  behind  it.  "  If  they  run 
for  the  bed,  strike  at  the  napes  of 
their  necks !  a  sword-cut  there  always 
kills  or  disables."  He  then  arranged 
the  bolsters  and  their  shoes  in  the  bed 
so  as  to  deceive  a  person  peeping 
from  a  distance,  and  dixw  the  short 
curtains  at  the  head. 

Meantime  Gerard  was  on  his  knees. 
Denys  looked  i-ound  and  saw  him. 

"Ah!"  said  Denys,  "above  all, 
pray  them  to  forgive  me  for  bringing 
you  into  this  guetapens  !  " 

And  now  they  grasped  hands  and 
looked  in  one  another's  eyes  ;  O,  such 
a  look  !  Denys's  hand  was  cold,  and 
Gerard's  warm. 

They  took  their  posts. 

Denys  blew  out  the  candle. 

"  We  must  keep  silence  now." 

But  in  the  teiTible  tension  of  their 
nerves  and  very  souls  they  found  they 
could  hear  a  whisper  fainter  than  any 
man  could  catch  at  all  outside  that 
door.  They  could  hear  each  other's 
hearts  thump  at  times. 

"  Good  news  !  "  breathed  Denys, 
listening  at  the  door. 

"  They  are  casting  lots." 

"  Prav  that  it  may  be  the  Abbot." 
"  Yes".     Why  ?  " 

"If  he  comes  alone  I  can  make 
sure  of  him." 

"  Denvs  !  " 

"Ay!" 

"  I  fear  I  shall  go  mad,  if  they  do 
not  come  soon." 

"Shall  I  feign  sleep?  Shall  I 
snore  ?  " 

"  Will  that  —  ?  " 

"  Perhaps." 

"  Do  then,  and  God  have  mercy  on 
us  !  " 

Denys  snored  at  intenals. 

There  was  a  scuffling  of  feet  heard 
in  the  kitchen,  and  then  all  was  still. 

Denys  snored  agnin ;  then  took 
up  his  position  beliind  the  door. 


138 


THE  CLOISTER   AND  THK    UKAFtTII. 


But  ho,  or  tlicy,  who  hail  (Irnwn 
till-  lot,  .scfniiil  ili-ttrminc4l  tu  ntn  no 
r<M>li>ti  ri.'ki.  Nothiii),;  WiU  atU'tIlp^ 
t»l  in  II  hurry. 

\Vlu'i\  tliiv  wi'rr  nlmoit  ritJint><l 
uitli  t'olil  and  wnitint;  tor  tlir  ut- 
tiii'k,  till'  <l<Mir  on  till'  Ntuir!)  o|>vnitl 
sottly  and  clusotl  u^pun.  Nutliiu); 
nion-. 

There  waa  another  hiUTDwinjj  ni- 
Ifncc. 

Thin  ft  •«inu'lc  lij;ht  foot.ttcp  on  the 
Ktnir* ;  lunl  nntiiiii;;  inort". 

Tht-n  11  li^lu  crrpt  utulrr  tlio  diK>r  ; 
iiiul  nothing;  murt- 

l'ri'S4Mitly  there  was  a  p-nth'  MTutrh- 
in^.  not  hiiir  m>  loud  lui  ii  niouHc's, 
lUld  the  liilM-  dlH^^•^lo^t  o|«'ni'd  hy 
d<'urii's  and  lett  a  |KT|i«-ndii-ular  «|ia('e, 
throu^ch  wliiili  the  li^;ht  stniunid  in. 
'I'he  diMir,  hail  it  Urn  liulted,  would 
now  liavv  hunir  l>y  the  luirv  tip  of  the 
ImiU,  whiih  wont  into  the  n-ul  door- 
IMist.  hut,  a*  it  Wtt.*,  it  Jtwunj:  gently 
<i|M-n  ot°  it.selt*.  It  o|><<ned  inwurds,  ko 
Pcins  <lid  not  rait*'  hit  «to«-»-Im)w 
iVoiii  the  ^jrouiid,  but  njerely  ^jnuiiR-d 
his  da;:>,'er. 

The  eandle  wn.s  hehl  un,  nnd  shiid- 
eil  from  U'hind  hy  n  nuin  s  hand. 

He  wa.s  ins|H-«-tin^  the  U'd.s  fn)rn 
the  thre.sjiold,  sati.-fieil  that  lii.s  vie- 
tiuis  were  hnth  in  U-d. 

The  man  glided  into  the  Apartment. 
Hut  at  the  tirst  step  somelhin;;  in  the 
]M>sition  of  the  eu])lM»ird  nnd  ehnir 
made  him  uneasy.  Me  venturwl  no 
farther,  hut  put  the  eandle  on  the 
floor  and  st<M>jH'd  to  jner  under  the 
ehuir ;  hut,  a.s  he  .stoo|H'd,  nn  iron 
hand  praspi-d  hi.s  shoulder,  nnd  a 
dap>^er  was  driven  .so  fiereely  throu;:h 
hi.s  neck  that  the  point  came  out  at 
his  pullet.  There  was  a  terrible 
hiecouph,  but  no  erv,  nnd  half  a 
do/en  silent  stroke.s  followi-d  in  swift 
succession,  each  a  death-blow,  ami 
the  assassin  was  laid  noiselessly  on 
tiie  fl<x)r. 

Denys  closc«l  the  door,  bolte<l  it 
pently,  drew  the  post  to,  and,  even 
while  he  was  doinp  it,  whis|>ered  Ge- 
rard to  brinp  a  chair.     It  was  dune. 


"  Help  me  M't  him  up.' 

'■  Dead'  " 

••  I'arhleu !  •* 

••  What  for  *  " 

"  Friphten  them  '     «i.i:ii  time" 

Kvcn  while  sayinp  thi-..  Deny*  hnil 
whitiiMNi  n  piwv  of  Ntrinp  round  the 
deail  man's  ne«'k  and  tied  him  to  tho 
chair,  and  there  the  pha-stly  tljj'uro 
»at,  fruntinp  the  door. 

"  Denyn,  I  run  do  l««  ttir.  Saints 
forpivi-  me  I  " 

"  What  '  Ik?  quick,  then,  we  Imvo 
not  many  moments." 

An<l  Deny.*  pot  hi*  cros»-bow 
n-ady,  nnd,  tearinp  off  hi.s  straw 
mattrcM.s,  rean-d  it  Ufore  him, anti  i»ro- 
|uin-<l  to  shiMit  the  moment  the  (l<M>r 
.should  o|ien,  for  he  had  no  ho|N-  any 
more  would  come  sinply,  when  they 
found  tlie  tirst  did  not  return. 

While  ihuH  employed,  (ierani  wo* 
bu.sy  alM>ut  the  !U'at(.tl  ci>q)so,  and,  to 
his  amazement,  Denys  saw  a  lumi- 
nous plow  .tpreudinp  rapidly  over  the 
white  face. 

(ierard  blew  out  the  candle.  And 
on  thi.s  the  coqisi-'s  face  xhonc  still 
more  like  a  plow-wonn's  head. 

Denvs  shook  in  hi.H  bhoes,  aiul  hiii 
teitli  chnttc'red. 

"  What  in  Hcjiven's  name  is  this  ?  " 
he  whisjK'red. 

"  Hush !  't  is  but  phosj)honis. 
lint  't  will  Bene." 

"  Away  !  tliey  will  snriirisc  thee." 

In  fact  unwusy  niuttcrinps  were 
lu-anl  lielow,  and  at  last  a  deep  voice 
sai<l,  "  What  nuikcs  him  .so  lonp  1  ia 
the  dn")le  rilliup  tht  in  ?  " 

It  was  their  comrade  they  suspect- 
e<l,  then,  not  the  enemy.  Soon  a 
step  came  softly  but  rapidly  up  tho 
stairs  ;  the  door  was  pently  trie<l. 

When  this  resisted,  which  waa 
clearly  not  ex|KTted,  the  sham  post 
was  very  cautiously  moved,  an<l  an 
eye,  no  doubt,  ]»ee[)e<l  fhrouph  the 
ajK^rturc ;  for  there  was  a  howl  of 
dismay,  and  the  man  was  heard  to 
stumble  back  and  burst  into  the 
kitchen,  where  a  Habel  of  voices  rose 
directly  on  his  return. 


THE  CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


139 


Gerard  ran  to  the  dead  thief,  and 
began  to  work  on  him  aj^ain. 

"  Back,  madman  !  "  whispered 
Den^s. 

"  Nay,  nay.  I  know  these  igno- 
rant brutes.  They  will  not  venture 
here  awhile.  I  can  make  him  ten 
times  more  fearful." 

"  At  least  close  that  opening ! 
Let  them  not  see  you  at  your  devilish 
work." 

Gerard  closed  the  sham  post,  and 
in  half  a  minute  his  brush  made  the 
dead  head  a  sight  to  strike  any  man 
with  dismay.  He  put  his  art  to  a 
perhaps  strange  use,  and  one  unparal- 
leled in  the  history  of  mankind.  He 
illuminated  his  dead  enemy's  face  to 
frighten  his  living  foe ;  the  staring 
eyeballs  he  made  globes  of  fire ;  the 
teeth  he  left  white,  for  so  they  were 
more  terrible  by  the  contrast,  but  the 
palate  and  tongue  he  tipped  with  fire, 
and  made  one  lurid  cavern  of  the 
red  depths  the  chapfallen  jaw  re- 
vealed ;  and  on  the  brow  he  wrote  in 
burning  letters,  "  ILa  fHort."  And, 
while  he  was  doing  it,  the  stout 
Denys  was  quaking,  and  fearing  the 
vengeance  of  Heaven  ;  for  one  man's 
courage  is  not  another's ;  and  the 
band  of  miscreants  below  were  quar- 
relling and  disputing  loudly,  and 
now  without  disguise. 

The  steps  that  led  do^\'n  to  the 
kitchen  were  fifteen,  but  they  were 
nearly  perpendicular ;  there  was, 
therefore,  in  point  of  fact,  no  distance 
betM'een  the  besiegers  and  besieged, 
and  the  latter  now  caught  almost 
every  word.  At  last  one  was  heard 
to  cry  out,  "  I  tell  ye  the  Devil  has 
got  him  and  branded  him  with  hell- 
fire.  I  am  more  like  to  leave  tliis 
cursed  house  than  go  again  into  a 
room  that  is  full  of  fiends." 

"  Art  drunk,  or  mad  1  or  a  cow- 
ard 1 "  said  another. 

"  Call  me  a  coward,  I  '11  give  thee 
my  dagger's  point,  and  send  thee 
where  Pierre  sits  o'  fire  forever." 

"  Come,  no  quarrelling  when  work 
is  afoot,"  roared  a  tremendous  diapa- 
son, "  or  I  '11  brain  ye  both  with  my 


fist,  and  send  ye  where  v/e  shall  all 
go  soon  or  late." 

"  The  Abbot,"  whispered  Denys, 
gravely. 

He  felt  the  voice  he  had  just  heard 
could  belong  to  no  man  but  the 
colossus  he  had  seen  in  passing 
through  the  kitchen.  It  made  the 
place  vibrate.  The  quarrelling  con- 
tinued some  time,  and  then  there  was 
a  dead  silence. 

"  Look  out,  Gerard." 

"Ay.     What  will  they  do  next?" 

"  We  shall  soon  know." 

"  Shall  I  wait  for  you,  or  cut  down 
the  first  that  opens  the  door  ?  " 

"  Wait  for  me,  lest  we  strike  the 
same,  and  waste  a  blow.  Alas !  we 
can't  aftbrd  that." 

Dead  silence. 

Sudden  came  into  the  room  a  thing 
that  made  them  start  and  their  hearts 
quiver. 

And  what  was  it  ?     A  moonbeam. 

Even  so  can  this  machine,  the 
bodj',  by  the  soul's  action  be  stnmg 
up  to  start  and  quiver.  The  sudden 
ray  shot  keen  and  pure  into  that 
shamble. 

Its  calm,  cold,  silvery  soul  trav- 
ersed the  apartment  in  a  stream  of  no 
great  volume,  for  the  window  was 
narrow. 

After  the  first  tremor,  Gerard  whis- 
pered, "  Courage,  Denys  !  God's  eye 
is  on  us  even  here."  And  he  fell 
upon  his  knees,  with  his  face  turned 
towards  the  window. 

Ay,  it  was  like  a  holy  eye  opening 
suddenly  on  human  crime  and  human 
passions.  Many  a  scene  of  blood 
and  crime  that  pure  cold  eye  has 
rested  on  ;  but  on  few  more  ghastly 
than  this,  where  two  men,  with  a 
lighted  corpse  between  them,  waited 
panting  to  kill  and  be  killed.  Nor 
did  the  moonlight  deaden  that  liorri 
ble  corpse-light.  If  anything,  it  add- 
ed to  its  ghastliness  ;  for  the  body 
sat  at  the  edge  of  the  moonbeam, 
which  cut  sharp  across  the  shoulder 


110 


THE  CLOISTKR   AND   THK  HfcnRTH. 


nnd    tho  our,  niul   hiviiuhI   Muc  and  | 
^lia'<tly  iukI   iitiiuktiinil   liv  tiii'  nide  of 
that  liiri'l  K^»w  III  wliiili  lilt'  I'lU-u  nml 
(vcH  ami   i<t'[|i  «liunr   liurrilily.     Hut 
l)cii\!t  diind  not  hxik  tliut  wiiv.  | 

'i'iu*  iniHiii  drow  ii  Imxid  Htri|M<  nf 
li^ht  lUTiHt  tiio  duor,  uml  on  that  hi.s 
lyi'*  wore  kIu^"*'      I'nawntly  ho  whi»-  I 
|KTi'd,  "  (Jcrnrd  !  "  | 

(JtTard  looked  and  raiwd  hi?"  swonl. 

Ariltrly  ll'»  llicv  ii;ld  llstriictl.  thoy 
had  hiard  of  late  no  .sound  i>n  the 
*lJiir.  Vft  thenj  —  on  tho  dtM»r|M>iit,  ' 
at  tho  od;;o  of  tho  stream  of  intMui- 
li;;ht,  wero  tho  ti|Hi  of  the  fln^^ent  uf 
a  hand.  I 

The  nniN  t;i><*(*?iH'd.  I 

I'n-.Hi'ntly  they  lM<;;an  to  rrawl  and 
erawi  down  towards  the  U)lt,  l)iit 
with  inlinile  Mlowne.H<«  and  eaulion. 
Ill  so  doini;  tliey  ere|it  into  the  moon- 
lii;lit.  I'lie  lutual  motion  \\-a.t  im|MT- 
i<'|>tilile,  luit  Klowly,  iiloMly  the  tin- 
pT^t  eaine  out  whiter  and  whiter;  Imt 
the  haml  JN'tween  the  moin  knuekleit 
and  the  wri^t  remained  dark.  l)ony» 
^lowly  raised  his  enxs-lnjw. 

lie"  levelled    it.      lie    t.M.k    a   Ion;;.  ' 
Ht«-ady  aim.  j 

(ierard    |ial|>itate<l.       At    Inst     the  I 
en>ss.lM>w   twim;.'i-d.     The    hand  was 
instantly  nailed,  with  a  Ktern  jar,  to 
the  (juiverin>;  door|K(st.      There   wiw  j 
a  (ten-am  of  anguish.     "Cut,"  whi.s- | 
pend    Denys   eajjerly,   am!    (ierard'H  j 
uplifted    .sword     de.seendinl    and    oev-  I 
ered  tho  wrist  with  two  swift  Mows. 
A    Uxiy    sank   down    moaning    out- 
side. 

The  hand  remained  inside,  immov- 
nl)le,  with  1)Io(hI  trieklin^  from  it 
down  the  wall.  Tho  (iereo  Indt, 
.slightly  harU'd,  had  ^one  through  it, 
nnd  ilee|)  iiitt>  the  real  doorjKJSt. 

"  Two,"  said  Denys,  with  terrible 
eynieism. 

He  strung  his  ctoss-Uow,  nnd  kneeled 
l>ehind  his  cover  again 

"  The  next  will  l»e  the  Ahhot." 

The  wounded  man  nioviil,  and  pres- 
ently crawled  ilown  to  his  compan- 
ions un  the  stairs,  nnd  the  kitchen 
door  was  shut. 


There  nothing  was  licanl  noir  bol 
low  mutteriii;^.  The  l.Kt  iiieideiil 
had  revealed  the  mortal  i  liarailer  of 
tin-  we.i|ioiis  Used  l>v   llie  lH-Nii';.'»-d. 

"  I  liegin  to  think  the  AMhii's 
stomarh  is  nut  »o  gn-ut  a.s  liis  ImmIv," 
said  Denys. 

Tho  words  were  s«'arc*'ly  oiu  of  hia 
mouth,  when  the  fidlowing  events 
hapfM'Ur^l  in  a  rouple  of  se<-onds. 
riie  kitehen  d<>or  was  o|m-ii<s1  rough- 
1>,  a  heavy  hut  lu'tive  man  darted  up 
t)ie  steps  without  any  manner  of  di»- 
guiiH>,  and  a  single  |Hinderous  hlow 
s<-iit  tho  door,  not  only  oil'  its  liing(>«, 
hut  riglit  across  the  PMim  on  to  l)c- 
nys's  fortitieation,  which  it  struck  so 
ruili'ly  us  nearly  to  lay  him  flat.  And 
in  the  diMirwiiy  stood  a  co|<i<i<4us  with 
a  glittering  axo. 

Ilo  saw  the  dead  man  with  the 
moon's  Idiio  light  on  half  his  face, 
ami  the  n-d  liglit  on  the  other  half 
and  inside  his  chapfalhn  jaws  :  he 
stan-d,  his  arms  fell,  his  knees 
kiKN-kiHl  together,  and  ho  crouched 
with  horror. 

*  LA  MOUT  !  "  he  mc<l  in  tone* 
of  terror,  and  turned  and  tied.  In 
which  act  Denys  startt-d  up  and  shot 
him  thr<iii::h  iMith  jaws,  lie  sprang 
with  one  iMiiind  into  the  kitchen,  and 
there  leannl  on  his  axe,  sjiitting  IiIimmI 
and  ti-etli  and  ciirse.s. 

Di-nys  strung  his  how-,  nnd  |)ut  his 
hand  into  his  lireast. 

He  drew  it  out  dismayed. 

"  My  last  l>olt  is  gone,"  he  groamil. 

"  Hut  we  have  our  swords,  and  you 
have  slain  the  giant." 

"  No,  (Jerard,"  said  Denys,  gravely, 
"  I  have  not.  And  the  worst  is,  I 
have  w(Minded  him.  F(m>|  !  to  shoot 
at  a  retreating  lion.  He  liad  never 
fiued  thy  linmliwork  again  hul  for 
my  medilling." 

"  Ha  !  to  your  guard  !  I  hear  them 
o|M'n  the  door." 

Then  Denvs,  depres.sed  hy  the  one 
error  he  ha<i  committed  in  all  this 
fearful  night,  felt  convinced  liis  likst 
hour  had  come.  He  <lrew  his  sword, 
hut  like  one  do<jmed.  But  what  is 
this?  a  rc«<l  light  flickers  on  the  ceil- 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


141 


ing.  Gerard  flew  to  the  window  and 
looked  out.  There  were  men  with 
torches,  and  breastplates  gleaminfj 
red.  "  We  are  saved  !  Armed  men  !  " 
And  he  dashed  his  sword  through  the 
window,  shouting  "  Quick !  quick ! 
we  are  sore  pressed." 

"  Back  !  "  yelled  Denys  ;  "  they 
come  !  strike  none  but  him  !  " 

That  very  moment  the  Abbot  and 
two  men  with  naked  weaj^ons  rushed 
into  the  room.  Even  as  they  came 
the  outer  door  was  hammered  fierce- 
ly, and  the  Abbot's  comrades,  hear- 
ing it,  and  seeing  the  torchlight, 
turned  and  fled.  Not  so  the  terrible 
Abbot ;  wild  with  rage  and  pain,  he 
spurned  his  dead  comrade,  chair  and 
all,  across  the  room,  then,  as  the 
men  faced  him  on  each  side  with 
kindling  eyeballs,  he  waved  his  tre- 
mendous axe  like  a  feather  right  and 
left,  and  cleared  a  space,  then  lifted  it 
to  hew  them  both  in  pieces. 

His  antagonists  were  inferior  in 
strength,  but  not  in  swiftness  and 
daring,  and  above  all  they  had  settled 
how  to  attack  him.  The  moment  he 
reared  his  axe,  they  flew  at  him  like 
cats,  and  both  together.  If  he  struck 
a  full  blow  with  his  weapon  he  would 
most  likely  kill  one,  but  the  other 
would  certainly  kill  him ;  he  saw  this, 
and,  intelligent  as  well  as  powerful,  he 
thrust  the  handle  fiercely  in  Denys's 
face,  and,  turning,  jobbed  with  the 
steel  at  Gerard.  Deriys  went  stag- 
gering back,  covered  Avith  blood. 
Gerard  had  rushed  in  like  lightning, 
and,  just  as  the  axe  turned  to  de- 
scend on  him,  drove  his  sword  so 
fiercely  through  the  giant's  body  that 
the  very  hilt  sounded  on  his  ribs  Uke 
the  blow  of  a  pugilist,  and  Denys, 
staggering  back  to  help  his  friend, 
saw  a  steel  point  come  out  of  the  Ab- 
bot behind. 

The  stricken  giant  bellowed  like  a 
bull,  dropped  his  axe,  and,  clutching 
Gerard's  throat  tremendously,  shook 
him  like  a  child.  Then  Denys,  -with 
a  fierce  snarl,  drove  his  sword  into  the 
giant's  back.  "  Stand  firm  now !  " 
and  he  pushed  the  cold  steel  through 


I  and  through  the  giant  and  out  at  his 
breast. 

Thus  horribly  spitted  on  both  sides, 
the  Abbot  gave  a  violent  shudder,  and 
his  heels  hammered  the  ground  con- 
vulsively. His  lips,  fast  turning  blue, 
opened  wide  and  deep,  and  he  cried, 
"LA  MORT!  — LA  MORT!  — 
LA  MORT  ! !  "  the  first  time  in  a 
roar  of  despair,  and  then  twice  in  a 
horror-stricken  whisper  never  to  be 
forgotten. 

Just  then  the  street  door  was 
forced. 

Suddenly  the  Abbot's  arms  Avhirled 
like  windmills,  and  his  huge  body 
wrenched  wildly  and  can-icd  them  to 
the  doorway,  twisting  their  wrists,  and 
nearly  throwing  them  off"  their  legs. 

"  He  '11  vdn  clear  yet,"  cried  Denys : 
"  out  steel !  and  in  again  !  " 

They  tore  out  their  smoking  swords, 
but,  ere  they  could  stab  again,  the 
Abbot  leaped  full  five  feet  high,  and 
fell  with  a  tremendous  crash  against 
the  door  below,  carri'ing  it  away  with 
him  like  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  through 
the  aperture  the  glare  of  torches  burst 
on  the  awestruck  faces  above,  half 
blinding  them. 

The  thieves  at  the  first  alarm  had 
made  for  the  back  door,  but,  driven 
thence  by  a  strong  guard,  ran  back  to 
the  kitchen,  just  in  time  to  see  the 
lock  forced  out  of  the  socket  and 
half  a  dozen  mailed  archers  burst  in 
upon  them.  On  these  in  pure  despair 
they  drew  their  swords. 

But  ere  a  blow  was  struck  on  either 
side,  the  staircase  door  behind  them 
was  battered  into  their  midst  vnih 
one  ponderous  blow,  and  with  it  the 
Abbot's  body  came  flying,  hurled,  as 
they  thought,  by  no  mortal  hand,  and 
rolled  on  the  floor,  spouting  blood 
from  back  and  bosom  in  two  furious 
jets,  and  quivered,  but  breathed  no 
more. 

The  thieves,  smitten  with  dismay 
fell  on  their  knees  directly,  and  the 
archers  bound  them,  while,  above,  the 
rescued  ones  still  stood  like  statues 
rooted  to   the    spot,   their    dripping 


It  J 


THK   <L()!STER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


iword.t  cxtcmlifl  in  the  ml  tnrrhlitfht, 
exiMTtiii;;  tln'ir  iiuloinitntile  ciu'iiiv  to 
loHii  Imi'k  oil  thrill  us  wuiuicrt'ull^  lu 
he  liml  troiii". 


ClIAl'inU    XXXIII. 

*'  WiiKur.  Ih?  the  true  men  •  " 

"  Men-  \m'  we.  (.j«mI  blej*.i  you  all ! 
(iimI  lilcst  you  !  " 

'I  luT»'  win  a  ni<h  to  the  «tair*.  ami 
hiiir  a  iloien  hnnl  hut  tm-mlly  linmi* 
wi-ro     hohl    out     nml    ^,'TIt■^|>«1|    thriti 
\tannly.     "  Y'  have  navetl  our  li*' 
Imlt,"  crietl    Denvn,   "  y' have  »a\ 
our  livj'.H  thi<  iii^hl." 

A  wild  pti^ht  nut  the  eyes  of  the 
n\<M-ur<l  |>iiir.  'I'hiTtMiin  Harini;  with 
tonlieji,  the  j;liltiTiu^  hrrjtttjtluti's  «>f 
the  nnlur*,  their  liroiuni  hwi-^.  the 
white  <he»k<  of  the  l)uun<l  thieve*, 
nml  the  hiecilin;;  t;iitnt.  whove  ileail 
ImmIv  tluMe  hanl  men  left  lyin^  there 
ill  it.H  own  t'ore. 

(•eranl  went  roiiiul  tlienn-her»,  nn<l 
took  them  eneh  t>v  the  hninl  with 
((li.Hteiiini;  eyeit,  nml  on  thi*  tluv  nil 
kivM-il  him  ;  un<l  tlii!i  time  hi>  ki.4.He<l 
them  in  return.  'I'Ik-ii  he  i«ni<l  to  one 
hanil>ome  nreher  of  hit  own  nee, 
"  Tritluv,  goo«l  .Mihlier,  have  an  eye 
to  me.  A  ittran^ri"  ilmw^ineM  ovcr- 
eonies  me.  I.,»t  no  one  rut  my  thn)at 
while  I  sU-*'\t,  —  for  pity's  nake." 

The  nreher  |tri)mis«'«(  with  a  lnu(;h, 
for  he  thought  (Ji-rnnl  wiuh  ji-stin^; ; 
anil  the  latter  went  off  into  a  iKvp 
Hleep  nimost  immediately. 

Deiiys  wa.H  .«iiriiri.*e<l  at  thi<,  hut  diil 
not  interfen-,  for  it  .-(uitiil  his  immedi- 
ate puqiose.  A  couple  of  arehers 
were  insi)cetin^:  the  AI>lH»t'.s  Ixxly, 
tiirninj;  it  half  over  with  their  feet, 
and  iiKiuirin);  "  whirh  of  the  two  had 
flunj:  this  eiionnnus  roiruedown  from 
an  umK-r  .story  like  that  ;  they  woul<l 
fain  Iiavo  the  triek  of  his  ann." 

Denys  at  first  pishecl  ami  pshawed, 
but  dared  not  play  the  l>ra;:gart,  for 
he  said  to  himself,  "  That  youns; 
Ta^rabond  will  break  in  and  say  't  was 
the  finjxer  of  Heaven,  ami  no  mortal 
arm,  or  some  sueh  stuff,  and  make 


'  me  look  like  a  fiK>l."  Hut  now,  w» 
in^  (ierurd  uneoiiM-iou<,  be  Kuddmly 
^ave  thin  re«]uire(l  information. 
I  "  Well  then,  you  -n-e,  tomrndir*,  I 
had  run  my  NWiml  through  tlii«  one 
up  to  the  hilt,  and  one  or  two  muro 
of  'em  eame  buzzing  nlMiut  me  ;  mt  it 
Iwhoovwl  me  have  my  »wor<l  or  die  ; 
M>  I  ju«t  put  my  foot  acaiiixt  hi^ 
Ktomach,  i;:ive  a  tup  with  my  hand 
and  a  tpriiit;  with  my  fiMit,  ami  »eni 
him  tlyin^  to  kingdom  emne  t  Ho 
di(*<l  in  the  air,  ami  hit  earrion  rulled 
in  anion;,'*!  you  without  ecreinony ; 
\<>u  jump,  I  warmnt  me.  Hut 
M-s  and  pillage!  what  avail* 
praKim;;  of  tlM'.>te  trilles  ontr  they 
are  p>ne  by  •  buvon.H,  eamaraden, 
btivoiiit." 

The  nn-hent  n-markrd  that  it  was 
ea«y  lo  say  "  buvon.H  "  wlu-n-  n<»  iii|- 
uor  wa.4,  but  not  m>  ea.HV  to  do  it. 

"  Nay,  I  'II  noon  find  ye  li(|uor. 
My  no<ie  hath  a  natural  alacrity  at 
MTntin^'  out  the  wine.  You  follow 
tne,  and  I  my  iiom-  ;  brin;j  a  t«)nh ! " 
And  they  leil  the  ro«)m,  and,  findini; 
a  ihort  Hi;;lit  of  stone  step*,  tleseenu- 
ed  them,  nml  enten-*!  a  hiTKV,  low. 
damp  eellar. 

It  .tmelt  r|os4>  and  dank  ;  ami  tho 
walls  wen-  inenist«'d  here  and  there 
with  what  se«'me<|  robweb<t,  but 
prove«l  to  \h'  >.alt|N'tre  that  had  iMtzetl 
out  of  the  damp  stoiK-*  and  crvstal- 
liiwl.  ^ 

"  <)  the  fine  mouldy  smell,"  sjiid 
Denys.  "  In  sueh  plaeen  still  lurks 
the  ^ixmI  wine  ;  advam-c  thy  torch. 
Diable  !  what  i.s  that  in  tho  cor- 
ner f  A  pile  of  rags  ?  No ;  't  ia  • 
man." 

They  pathen-il  round  with  the  torch, 
and  lo  !  a  fi^rure  crouched  on  a  heap 
in  the  comer,  pale  aa  a.she.s  and  shiv- 
erintr. 

"  Why,  it  is  the  landlord,"  said 
Denys. 

"  Get  np,  thou  craven  heart ! " 
shouted  one  of  the  archers. 

"  Why,  man,  the  thieves  are  bound, 
and  we  are  dry  that  bound  them. 
I'p !  and  show  us  thj  wine  ;  for  do 
bottles  see  I  here." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE   HEARTH. 


143 


"  What,  be  the  rascals  bound  ?  " 
stammered  the  pale  landlord  ;  "  ;?ood 
news.  W  —  w  —  wine  '\  that  will  I, 
honest  sirs." 

And  he  rose  with  unsure  joints  and 
offered  to  lead  the  way  to  the  wine- 
cellar.  But  Denys  interposed.  "  You 
are  all  in  the  dark,  comrades.  He  is 
in  league  with  the  thieves." 

"  Alack,  good  soldier,  me  in  league 
with  the  accursed  robbers.  Is  that 
reasonable  ?  " 

"  The  girl  said  so,  any  way." 

"  The  "girl !  What  girl"?  Ah  ! 
Curse  her,  traitress  !  " 

"  Well,"  interposed  the  other  arch- 
er, "  the  girl  is  not  here  but  gone 
on  to  the  bailiff'.  So  let  the  burgh- 
ers settle  whether  this  craven  be 
guilty  or  no,  for  we  cauglit  him  not 
in  the  act :  and  let  him  draw  us  our 
wine." 

"  One  moment,"  said  Denys, 
shrewdly.  "  Why  cursed  he  the 
girl  ?  if  he  be  a  true  man,  he 
should  bless  her  as  wc  do." 

"  Alas,  sir  !  "  said  the  landlord,  "  I 
have  but  my  good  name  to  live  by, 
and  I  cursed  her  to  you,  because  you 
said  she  had  belied  me." 

"  Humph  !  I  trow  thou  art  a  thief, 
and  where  is  the  thief  that  cannot  lie 
with  a  smooth  tace  ?  Therefore  hold 
him,  comrades ;  a  prisoner  can  draw 
wine  an'  if  his  hands  be  not  bound." 

The  landlord  offered  no  objection  ; 
but  on  the  contrary  said  he  would 
with  pleasure  show  them  where  his 
little  stock  of  win^  was,  but  hoped 
they  would  pay  for  what  they  should 
drink,  for  his  rent  was  due  this  two 
months. 

The  archers  smiled  grimly  at  his 
simplicity,  as  they  thought  it ;  one  of 
them  laid  a  hand  quietly  but  firmly 
on  his  shoulder,  the  other  led  on  with 
the  torch. 

They  had  reached  the  threshold, 
when  Denys,  cried,  "  Halt !  " 

"  What  is  't  ■?  " 

"  Here  be  bottles  in  this  corner ; 
advance  thy  light." 

The  torchbearerwcnt  towards  him. 
He  had  just  taken  off  his  scabbard  and 
7 


was  probing  the  heap  the  landlord  had 
just  been  crouched  upon. 

"  Kay,  nay,"  cried  the  landlord, 
"  the  wine  is  in  the  next  cellar. 
There  is  nothing  there." 

"Nothing  is  mighty  hard,  then," 
said  Denys,  and  drew  out  something 
with  his  hand  from  the  heap. 

It  proved  to  be  only  a  bone. 

Deuys  threw  it  on  the  floor :  it 
rattled. 

"  There  is  naught  there  but  the 
bones  of  the  house,"  said  the  land- 
lord. 

"  Just  now  't  was  nothing.  Now 
that  wc  have  found  something,  'tis 
nothing  but  bones.  Here 's  another. 
Humph  !  look  at  this  one,  comrade ; 
and  you  come  too  and  look  at  it,  and 
bring  yon  smooth  knave  along." 

The  archer  with  the  torch,  whose 
name  was  Philijjpe,  held  th  ■  bone  to 
the  light,  and  turned  it  round  and 
round. 

"  Well  1 "  said  Denys. 

"  Well,  if  this  was  a  field  of  battle 
I  should  say  't  was  the  shank-bone  of 
a  man  ;  no  more,  no  less.  But 't  is  n't 
a  battle-field,  nor  a  churchyard  ;  't  is 
an  inn." 

"  True,  mate ;  but  yon  knave's  ashy 
face  is  as  good  a  light  to  me  as  a  field 
of  battle.  I  read  the  bone  by  it. 
Bring  yon  face  nearer,  I  say.  When 
the  cbinc  is  a  missing,  and  the  house 
dog  can't  look  at  you  without  his  tail 
creeping  between  his  legs,  who  was 
the  thief  ?  Good  brothers  mine,  my 
mind  it  doth  misgive  me.  The  deeper 
I  thi'ust  the  more  there  be.  Mayhap, 
if  these  bones  could  tell  their  tale,  they 
would  make  true  men's  flesh  creep 
that  heard  it." 

"Alas!  young  man,  what  hideous 
f\incics  are  these !  The  bones  are 
bones  of  beeves  and  sheep  and  kid, 
and  not,  as  you  think,  of  men  and 
women.     Holy  saints  preserve  us  !  " 

"  Hold  thy  peace !  thy  words  are 
air.  Thou  hast  not  got  burghers  by 
the  ear,  that  know  not  a  veal  knuckle 
from  their  grandsire's  ribs,  but 
soldiers,  —  men  that  have  gone  to 
look    for    their  dear  conir^des,  and 


Ill 


THK  CLOISTER   AND  THK   HKAKTH. 


fuunil  tlicir  Umcs  picked  an  clean 
hy  thv  irows  as  tlu-se,  I  doubt,  have 
licvM  \>y  tlue  und  thy  niati-.s.  Men 
and  women,  Huid-tt  thou  !  And, 
piithif,  when  npuke  I  a  word  of 
wonifn'rt  l>«nes?  Woiddst  make  a 
child  susjH'Ct  thei'  ?  Field  of  l>iittle. 
<  otr.rnde !  Was  not  this  house  a 
lield  of  liattle  half  an  hour  ajjonc  ?  | 
Dni;,'  him  v\t>M'  tn  me,  let  me  rend  hii* 
liKe  ;  nf)w  then,  w hat  is  thist,  thou 
kimve  f  "  and  ho  thrust  a  small  ob- 
ject suddeidv  in  his  face. 

"  Alus  !  I  Vnow  not." 

"  Well,  I  woultl  not  swear  neither  ; 
liut  it  is  too  like  the  thuml>-lK)nc  of  a 
man's  hutxl  ;  mates,  my  tlesli  erct-ps. 
Churchyard  !  how  know  I  tl>is  is  not 
one  ?  " 

And  he  now  dnw  his  sword  out  of 
the  srnbbiiril,  and  U-^an  to  rake  the 
hc;i|)  »)f  earth  and  l>n)ken  crockery 
ami  liones  out  on  the  Hoor. 

The  landlonl  assured  him  he  but 
wasted  his  time.  "  Wc  jioor  inn- 
ke«'i)crs  arc  »;nneni,"  said  he,  "  wc 
j^ive  short  ni'-asure.  and  baptize  the 
wine  ;  we  are  fain  to  do  these  thinj^'s  ; 
tlio  laws  are  no  iinjust  t'>  us;  but  we 
are  not  assassins.  How  couhl  wc 
nrtonl  to  kill  our  customers?  Mav 
heaven's  li^htninj;  strike  me  dead  If 
there  lie  any  bones  there  but  siich  as 
have  lH"en  usc<l  for  meat.  'T  is  the 
kitchen  wench  llin^s  them  here ;  I 
swear  by  ('io<rs  holy  njothcr,  bv  holy 
Paul,  by  holy  Dominie,  and  bcnys 
my  i>atn)n  saint  —  nh  !  " 

Denys  held  out  a  l)one  under  his 
eye  in  deail  silence.  It  was  a  Ikjiic  no 
man,  however  i),'nt>rant,  liowevcr  ly- 
iuir,  could  confouiul  with  those  of 
s-liiej)  or  oxen.  The  sight  of  it 
.shut  the  lyin;;  lips  and  palsied  the 
heartless  heart. 

The  landlord's  hair  rose  visibly  on 
his  head  like  spikes,  and  his  knees 
jravc  way  as  if  his  limbs  had  Iwcn 
stnick  from  umlor  him.  Rut  the 
archers  dragf^d  him  fiercely  up,  and 
kept  him  erect  under  the  torch,  staring 
fascinated  at  the  dead  skull,  which, 
white  as  the  living  cheek  opi>osed, 
but  no  whiter,  glared  back  again  at 


itH  murtlenr,  whose  j)ale  liiw  now 
ojiencd,  and  oiK-nitl,  but  could  utter 
no  sounil. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  iKuys,  solemidy,  and 
trembling  now  with  rage,  •■  look  on 
the  sockets  out  of  which  thou  hast 
jiickcd  the  eyes,  and  let  them  blast 
thine  eyes,  that  crows  shall  jiick  out 
ere  this  week  shall  end.  Now,  hold 
thou  that  while  I  s^^'andi  on.  Hold  it, 
I  say,  or  here  I  n>b  the  gallows — " 
and  he  threatened  the  inuiking  wntch 
with  Ids  naketi  sword,  tdl  with  a  groan 
he  took  the  skull  and  held  it,  almost 
fainting. 

O  that  every  munlercr  and  con- 
triver of  murtfer  couhl  8<'C  him,  sick 
and  staggering  with  terror,  and  with 
his  hair  on  eiul,  holding  the  cold 
skull,  and  ficling  that  his  own  head 
woulil  soon  lie  like  it.  And  S'hui  the 
luap  was  M-attcn-d,  aiitl,  alas  !  not 
one  nor  twf),  but  many  sktdls  were 
brought  to  light,  the  culprit  moan- 
ing at  each  discovery. 

Smhlenly  Denys  uttered  a  stranj:© 
erv  tif  ilistrcss  to  come  fnmj  so  l>old 
'  and  hard  a  man,  and  held  up  to 
the  torch  a  nntss  of  human  hair,  it 
was  long,  glossy,  and  gohlen.  A  wo- 
man's iHiuttiful  hair.  At  the  sight  of 
it  the  archers  instirutively  shook  iho 
craven  wretch  in  their  hamls  ;  and  ho 
whined. 

"  I  have  a  little  sister  with  hair  just 
so  fair  pnd  shining  as  this,"  gnljinl 
Denys.  "  Jesu  !  if  it  should  \k  hers  ! 
There,  quick,  take  my  swonl  and  dag- 
ger, and  keep  them  from  my  hand,  lest 
I  strike  him  dead  and  wrong  the  gib- 
lK"t.  And  thou,  jxior  innocent  victim, 
on  whose  head  this  niost  lovely  hair 
did  grow,  hear  me  swear  thus,  on 
Ix-nded  knee,  never  to  leave  this  man 
till  I  see  him  broken  to  nieces  on  the 
wheel,  even  for  thy  sake.  ' 

He  rose  from  his  knee.  "  Ay,  had 
he  as  many  lives  as  here  !«  hairs,  I  'd 
have  them  all,  by  God!  "  Ami  he  jmt 
the  hair  into  his  K)Som.  Then,  in  a 
sudflen  fury,  seized  the  landlord  fierce- 
ly by  the  neck,  and  forceri  him  to  his 
kiK-es  ;  and  foot  on  head  ground  his 
face  savagely  among  the  Ixines  of  his 


THE  CLOISTER  AND   THE  HEAKTH. 


145 


victims,  where  they  lay  thickest ;  and 
the  assassin  first  yelled,  then  whined 
and  whimpered,  just  as  a  dog  first 
yells,  then  whines,  when  his  nose  is 
so  forced  into  some  leveret  or  other 
innocent  he  has  killed. 

"  Now  lend  me  thy  bowstring, 
Philippe  !  "  He  passed  it  through 
the  eyes  of  a  skull  alternately,  and 
hung  the  ghastly  relic  of  mortality 
and  crime  round  the  man's  neck ; 
then  pulled  him  up  and  kicked  him 
industriously  into  the  kitchen,  where 
one  of  the  aldermen  of  the  burgh 
had  arrived  with  constables,  and  was 
even  now  taking  an  archer's  deposi- 
tion. 

The  grave  burgher  was  much 
startled  at  sight  of  the  landlord 
driven  in  bleeding  from  a  dozen 
scratches  inflicted  by  the  bones  of  his 
own  victims,  and  carrying  his  hor- 
rible collar.  But  Denys  caine  pant- 
ing after,  and  in  a  few  fiery  words 
soon  made  all  clear. 

"  Bind  him  like  the  rest,"  said  the 
aklernaan,  sternly.  "  I  count  him  the 
blackest  of  them  all." 

While  his  hands  were  being  bound, 
the  poor  wretch  begged  piteously  that 
"  the  skull  might  be  taken  from 
him." 

"  Humph  !  "  said  the  alderman. 
"  Certes  I  had  not  ordered  such  a 
thing  to  be  put  on  mortal  man.  Yet, 
being  there,  I  will  not  lift  voice  nor 
finger  to  doff  it.  Methinks  it  fits 
thee  truly,  thou  bloody  dog.  'T  is 
thy  ensign,  and  hangs  well  above  a 
heart  so  foul  as  thine." 

He  then  inquired  of  Denys  if  he 
thought  they  had  secured  the  whole 
gang  or  but  a  part. 

"  Your  worship,"  said  Denys, 
"  there  are  but  seven  of  them,  and 
this  landlord.  One  we  slew  up  stairs, 
one  we  trundled  down  dead,  the  rest 
are  bound  before  you." 

"  Good !  go  fetch  the  dead  one  from 
up  stairs,  and  lay  him  beside  him  I 
caused  to  be  removed." 

Here  a  voice  like  a  guinea-fowl's 
broke  peevishly  in.  "  Now,  now, 
now,  where  is  the  hand?  that  is  what 


I  want  to  see."  The  speaker  was  a 
little  pettifogging  clerk. 

"  You  will  find  it  above,  nailed  to 
the  doorpost  by  a  cross-bow  bolt." 

"  Good !  "  said  the  clerk.  He 
whispered  his  master,  "  What  a 
goodly  show  will  the  '  pieces  de  con- 
viction '  make ! "  and  with  this  he 
wrote  them  down,  enumerating  them 
in  separate  squeaks  as  he  penned 
them.  Skulls,  —  Bones,  —  A  wo- 
man's hair,  —  A  thief's  hand,  —  1 
axe,  —  2  carcasses,  —  1  cross-boAV  bolt. 
This  done,  he  itched  to  search  the 
cellar  himself ;  there  might  be  other 
invaluable  morsels  of  evidence,  au 
ear,  or  even  an  ear-ring.  The  alder- 
man assenting,  he  caught  up  a  torch, 
and  was  hurrying  thither  when  an 
accident  stopped  him,  and  indeed  car- 
ried him  a  step  or  two  in  the  opposite 
direction. 

The  constables  had  gone  up  the 
narrow  stair  in  single  file. 

But  the  head  constable  no  sooner 
saw  the  phosphorescent  corpse  seated 
by  the  bedside  than  he  stood  stupe- 
fied ;  and  next  he  began  to  shake  like 
one  in  an  ague,  and,  teiTor  gaining 
on  him  more  and  more,  he  uttered  a 
sort  of  howl  and  recoiled  swiftly.  For- 
getting the  steps  in  his  recoil,  he  tum- 
bled over  backward  on  his  nearest  com- 
panion ;  but  he,  shaken  by  the  shout 
of  dismay,  and  catching  a  glimpse  of 
something  horrid,  was  already  stag* 
gering  back,  and  in  no  condition  to 
sustain  the  head  constable,  who,  like 
most  head  constables,  was  a  ponder- 
ous man.  The  two  carried  away  the 
third,  and  the  three  the  fourth,  and 
they  streamed  into  the  kitchen,  and 
settled  on  the  floor,  overlapping  each 
other  like  a  sequence  laid  out  on  a 
card-table.  The  clerk,  coming  hastily 
with  his  torch,  ran  an  involuntary  tilt 
against  the  fourth  man,  who,  sharing 
the  momentum  of  the  mass,  knocked 
him  instantly  on  his  back,  the  ace  of 
that  fair  quint;  and  there  he  lay, 
kicking  and  waving  his  torch,  ap- 
parently in  triumph,  but  really  in 
convulsion,  sense  and  wind  being 
driven  out  together  by  the  concussion. 


14C 


TUF.   CLOISTKU   AND   TllK   HKARTII. 


Di-tiys  cxpliuiieil,  and  util-ixii  to  nc 
ri>iii|iuii_v   hi*   worship.     "  So  be  it,' 


"  What  is  to  do  now,  in  Heaven's 
name  '  "  rrie<l  the  nidennun,  siartint; 
up  with  eon.iiderulilu  uhinn.  Hut 
cxphu 
y  hi* 
Biiid  the  hitter.  Hi*  in<n  picked  them 
.selve*  ruefully  up,  and  tlie  alderniiiu 
put  hiniM.df  tit  their  head,  and  ex- 
KMiiiird  the  premise."!  aU)ve  and  lielow. 
Ah  fur  the  pri.soner*,  their  internifjm- 
tory  w&t  iMi<it|Mjne<l  till  they  could  bo 
eoiifronted  with  tlie  itervant. 

IJrfor*-  dawn,  the  thievet,  alive  nnd 
di-ad,  and  all  the  niirs  and  evidences 
ol  crime  and  retrihiition,  were  *wept 
away  into  the  law's  net,  and  the  inn 
was  silent,  and  alinoHl  deserted, 
'i'lii-n'  reinaine<i  hut  one  eunstahle, 
nnd  Deny*  an<l  ( ierard,  the  latter 
■tdl  sleepinj;  heavily. 


CHAl'TKK    XXXIV. 

GrnARD  awoke,  and  found  Deny* 
watehin;;  him  with  some  anxiety. 

•'  It  in  you  for  sleepin;; !  Why,  't  is 
hijjh  noon." 

"  It  wo*  a  hlt-sse*!  sleep,"  said  CJe- 
rard  ;  "  niethink*  Heaven  sent  it  me. 
It  hath  put  a.*  it  wer\"  a  veil  lictwi-i-n 
me  and  that  awful  ni^ht.  To  think 
that  you  ami  I  sit  hen-  alive  and  well. 
How  terrihlc  a  dream  I  swm  to  have 
had  !  " 

"  Ay,  lad,  that  is  the  wi.*o  way  to 
look  at  ihe^e  thinpi ;  when  once  thev 
are  joi.st,  why,  they  are  iln^ams,  shad- 
ows. Hn-ak  thy  fast,  and  then  thou 
\%ilt  think  no  mi>n!  on  't.  Mort-over, 
I  pnuni.Hed  to  hrin;:  the«>  on  to  the 
town  liy  n(M>n,  and  take  thee  to  his 
worship." 

"  What  for  '  " 

"  He  would  put  questions  to  thee  ; 
hy  the  same  token  he  was  for  waking; 
th«Y  to  that  end,  hut  I  withstoo<l  him 
earnestly,  and  vowixl  to  bring  thee  to 
him  in  the  mominp." 

"  Thou  shall  not  break  troth  for 
mo." 

« leranl  then  sopped  some  rye  bread 
in  red  wine,  and  ate  it  to  break  his 


fast ;  then  went  with  Dcnys  OTer  thc 
scene  of  combat,  and  came  back 
shuddering,  and  finally  took  the  rood 
with  hi*  friend,  and  k<pt  jK-ering 
throu^di  the  hetlj^es,  and  expecting 
suildcn  attacks  unrca.sonably,  till 
thcv  reached  the  little  H)wn.  Denys 
took  him  to  '•  The  White  Hart." 

"  No  fear  of  cutthroat*  here,"  said 
he.  "  I  know  the  landionl  this  many 
a  year.  He  is  a  bur^^e**,  and  liM>k-t  to 
lie  biiilitT.  'T  is  here  I  wa*  makini; 
for  vt-steret'n.  But  we  lost  lime,  and 
nij;f>t  o"crt<H>k  u*  —  and —  " 

"  And  vou  saw  a  woman  at  the 
door,  antf  would  lie  wi.M-r  than  la 
■leanneton  ;  she  told  us  they  were 
nauclit." 

"  Why,  what  savi>«l  our  liven,  if  not 
a  woman  '  Ay,  and  risked  her  own 
to  do  it." 

"  This  i*  true.  Deny*,  on<l,  though 
women  are  nothini;  to  me,  I  Ion;;  to 
thank  this  |MM>r  k\t\,  ami  rrward  liar; 
ay,  thou;;h  I  shan*  every  «loit  in  my 
purse  with  her.     Do  not  vou  ?  " 

•■  rnrbleu  !  " 

"  Where  shall  we  find  her  »  " 

"  Mnyhap  the  alderman  will  tell  US. 
We  mu*t  t'o  to  him  lir«t." 

The  alderman  n'reivcfl  them  with 
a  most  sin;;ular  and  inexplicable  ex- 
pression of  countenanec.  Howcrer, 
after  a  moment'*  retle<-tion,  he  wore  a 
grim  smile,  and  finally  priKfe<led  to 
put  interrotrntories  to  (Ierard,  and 
tiM>k  ilown  the  answers.  This  done, 
he  told  them  that  they  must  stay  in 
the  town  till  the  thieves  were  tried, 
and  U'  at  hand  to  give  evidence,  on 
iM-ril  of  fine  and  imprisonment.  They 
I(Nike<i  very  blank  at  this. 

"  However,"  .said  he,  "  't  will  not 
1)0  long,  the  culprits  having  Ikh-u 
taken  red-hande<l.'  He  lulded,  "  And 
you  know,  in  any  case,  you  could 
not  leave  thc  place  this  week." 

Denvs  stand  at  this  remark,  and 
Gerani  smiled  at  w  hat  he  thought  the 
simplicity  of  the  f)ld  gintleman  in 
tireaining  that  a  provincial  town  of 
Burgundy  had  attraction  to  detain 
him  from  Rome  and  Margaret. 

He  now  went  to  that  which  wm 


THE   CLOISTER  AND   THE  HEARTH. 


147 


nearest  both  their  hearts.  "Your 
worship,"  said  he,  "  wc  cannot  find 
our  benefactress  in  the  town." 

"  Nay,  but  who  is  your  benefac- 
tress ?  " 

"  Who  ■?  wliy,  the  good  girl  that 
came  to  you  by  night,  and  saved  our 
lives  at  peril  of  her  own.  O  sir,  our 
hearts  burn  within  us  to  thank  and 
bless  her ;  where  is  she  ?  " 

"  0,  she  is  in  prison." 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

"  In  prison,  sir ;  good  lack,  for  what 
misdeed "?  " 

"  Well,  she  is  a  witness,  and  may 
be  a  necessary  one." 

"  Why,  Messire  Bailiff,"  put  in 
Denj'S,  "  you  lay  not  all  your  wit- 
nesses by  the  heels,  I  trow.' 

The  alderman,  pleased  at  being 
called  bailiff,  became  communicative. 
"  In  a  case  of  blood  we  detain  all  tes- 
timony that  is  hke  to  give  us  leg-bail, 
and  so  defeat  justice,  and  that  is  why 
r/c  still  keep  the  women-folk.  For  a 
man  at  odd  times  bides  a  week  in  one 
mind,  but  a  woman,  if  she  do  her  duty 
to  the  realm  o'  Friday,  she  shall  undo 
it  afore  Sunday,  or  try.  Could  you 
see  yon  wench  now,  you  should  find 
her  a  blubbering  at  Iiaving  betrayed 
five  males  to  the  gallows.  Had  they 
been  females,  we  might  have  trusted 
to  a  subpoena.  For  they  despise  one 
another.  And  there  they  show  some 
sense.  But,  now  I  think  on  't,  there 
were  other  reasons  for  laying  this  one 
by  the  heels.  Hand  me  those  deposi- 
tions, young  sir."  And  he  put  on  his 
glasses.  "  Ay  !  she  was  impUcated  ; 
she  was  one  of  the  band." 

A  loud  disclaimer  burst  from  Denys 
and  Gerard  at  once. 

"  No  need  to  deave  me,"  said  the 
alderman.  "  Here  't  is  in  black  and 
white.  'Jean  Hardy  (that  is  one  of 
the  thieves),  being  questioned,  coiv 
fessed  that,'  —  humph  ]  Ay,  here  't  is. 
'  And  that  the  girl  Manon  was  the 
decoy,  and  her  svi'eetheart  was  Georges 


Vipont,  one  of  the  band  ;  and  hanged 
last  month ;  and  that  she  had  i)een 
deject  ever  since,  and  had  openly 
blamed  the  band  for  his  death,  say- 
ing, if  they  had  not  been  rank  cow- 
ards, he  had  never  been  taken,  and  it 
is  his  opinion  she  did  but  betray  them 
out  of  very  spite,  and  — ' " 

"  His  opinion  ! "  cried  Gerard,  indig- 
nantly, "  what  signifies  the  opinion 
of  a  cutthroat,  burning  to  be  revenged 
on  her  who  has  delivered  him  to  jus- 
tice ?  And,  an  you  go  to  that,  what 
avails  liis  testimony  ?  Is  a  thief  never 
a  liar  ?  Is  he  not  aye  a  liar  i  and 
here  a  motive  to  lie  ?  Revenge,  why, 
't  is  the  strongest  of  all  the  passions. 
And  O  sir,  what  madness  to  question 
a  detected  felon  and  listen  to  him  ly- 
ing away  an  honest  life,  —  as  if  he 
were  a  true  man  swearing  in  open 
day,  with  his  true  hand  on  the  Gospel 
laid ! " 

"  Young  man,"  said  the  alderman, 
"  restrain  thy  heat  in  presence  of  au- 
thority !  I  find  by  your  tongue  you 
are  a  stranger.  Know  then  that  in 
this  land  we  question  all  the  world. 
We  are  not  so  weak  as  to  hope  to  get 
at  the  trutli  by  sliutting  either  our  left 
car  or  our  right." 

"  And  so  you  would  listen  to  Satan 
belying  the  saints ! " 

"  Ta  !  ta  !  The  law  meddles  but 
with  men  and  women,  and  these  can- 
not utter  a  story  all  lies,  let  them  try 
ever  so.  Wherefore  we  shut  not  the 
barn  door  (as  the  saying  is)  against 
any  man's  grain.  Only,  having  ta- 
ken it  in,  we  do  winnow  and  sift  it. 
And  who  told  you  I  had  swallowed 
the  thief's  story  whole  like  fair 
water  1  Not  so.  I  did  but  credit  so 
much  on  't  as  was  home  out  by  better 
proof." 

"  Better  proof  ?"  and  Gerard  looked 
blank.     "  Why,  who  but  the  thieves 
would  breathe  a  word  against  her  7  " 
"  Marry,  herself" 
"  Herself,  sir  ?  what,  did  you  ques- 
tion her  too  ?  " 

"  I  tell  you  we  question  all  the 
world.  Here  is  her  deposition  ;  can 
you  read  ?  —  Read  it  yourself,  then." 


148 


THE  CLOISTEH   AND   TlIK   HKAUTH. 


OiTftnl  Kxiktil  at  Di-nys,  and  rc«I 
Iiiin 

MA  NO  N  'S    I )  K  r( )  S 1  r  I O  N. 

"  I  am  ft  native  of  Kpiiiol.  I  Kft 
m_v  iiativr  pUu-o  twci  yi'urs  u^jo  iKfiiiiHo 
I  was  iinfortuiiati' ;  1  could  not  like 
the  iiiiiii  tluy  Imde  inc.  So  my  fatJur 
tnit  mo.  I  mil  away  (n>m  my  fiitlirr. 
1  wi'iit  to  Rfnico.  I  li'ft  siTviiv 
lu-caus*'  tho  niistrt'SH  \va.i  jraloiis  of 
me.  Thf  n-ason  tlu-y  j;nvo  for  tuni- 
iin;  me  off  wiw,  iHOftust."  I  witt  saufy. 
Lust  yrar  I  >ttiHHl  in  the  market-|iIaoc 
to  N-  liired  with  other  irirln.  The 
lamllnnl  of  "  The  Fair  Star"  liired 
me.  I  was  eleven  months  with  him. 
A  youn-;  man  eourted  me.  I  loveil 
him.  I  found  out  that  travellers  cnnic 
and  never  went  away  au'ain.  I  told 
my  lover.  He  hade  me  hold  my  jHiiee. 
lie  threateni'il  me.  I  found  my  lover 
« ;is  ofie  of  a  haufl  of  thieves.  When 
tr.ivellers  were  to  U'  n)lilKd,  the  land- 
lord went  out  and  told  the  hand  to 
eoine.  Then  I  wept  and  jirayctl  for 
the  travellers'  ttouls.  I  never  tohl. 
A  month  nj;o  my  lover  «lie<l. 

"  The  soldier  put  me  in  mind  of 
my  lover.  He  was  lK-ard>il  like  him 
1  had  lost.  I  cannot  tell  whether  1 
should  have  interfend,  if  he  had  no 
beard.     1  am  sorry  I  told  now." 

The  pa|K.'r  almost  dropjK?il  from 
Gerard's  hand.s.  Now,  for  the  first 
time,  he  saw  th.it  Manon's  life  wn.s  in 
mortal  daiiirer.  lie  knew  the  do^rvjed 
law,  and  the  iloi;i,'»'d  nii-n  that  exe- 
cuted it.  He  thnnv  himM.-lf  suddenly 
on  his  knees  at  the  alderman's  leet. 
"  i)  sir  !  think  of  the  ditVerenee  U-- 
tween  tli«).se  cruel  men  and  this  poor 
Weak  woman  !  Could  yon  have  the 
heart  to  semi  her  to  the  same  death 
ivith  them  ;  could  you  have  the  heart 
to  condemn  us  to  look  on  and  sec 
lior  slau;;htered.  who,  hut  that  she 
ri.-.ked  her  life  for  oui-s,  had  not  now 
Inen  in  jeopardy  ?  Alas,  sir!  show 
me  and  my  comrade  some  pity,  if 
vou  have  none  for  her,  iM)or  soul ! 
I)eny3  and  I  be  true  men,  and  you 
will  rend  our  hearts  if  you  kill  that 
poor  simple  yirl.     What  can  w«  do  ? 


What  is  left  for  us  to  do,  then,  but  cot 
our  throats  at  hi  r  ;;«llows'  fiM>t  f  " 

The  alderman  was  tou;:h.  but  mor 
tal  ;  the  jirayers  and  a::itation  of 
(ieranl  tir>t  a->tounded,  then   touehed 

I  him.     He  showed  it  in  a  curious  way. 

i  He     iK'canie     pecvisli     and     fretful. 

i  "  Then',  p-t    up,  do,"    said    he.     "  I 

i  doubt  whether  anylMHly  would  say  ns 
manv    words    for    me.       What     ho ! 

I  Daniel  !   ^o   fetch    the   town   clerk." 

I  Anil,    on    thikt    fiiin'tionary    enterinf; 

'  from  an  adjoinini;  rtHiiii,  "  Here  is  a 
foolish  lad  fretting  aUiut  yon  h\t\. 
Can  we  stn-teh  a  |MMnt  '  wiy  we  ad- 
mit her  to  bear  witness,  and  i|UC»tioii 

',  her  favorably." 

The  town  clerk  Wiis  one  of  your 
"  imiM>ssibility  "  men. 

"  Say,  sir,  we  cannot  «lo  that;  (the 
was  not  conceriii.-«l  in  this  business. 
Had  she  Urn  acce.s.Hory,  we  ini;;ht 
have  ortered  her  u  |>ardon  to  U-ar  wit- 
nesw." 

(JeranI  burst  in.  "But  she  did 
U'tti-r.  IiMtead  of  U-in;;  acivssory, 
she  stayed  the  irinie  :  and  she  prof- 
fered hi'rs«-lf  as  witness  by  running 
hither  with  the  tale." 

"  Tush,  yoiin;;  man,  't  i.*  a  matter 
of  law."  The  alderman  and  the 
clerk  then  had  a  Ion;;  discussion,  the 
one  maintainin;;,  the  other  denyini;, 
that  she  st(MMl  as  fair  in  law  ns  if  she 
IumI  U'cn  acces.sory  to  the  attempt  on 
our  travellers'  lives.  Ami  this  was 
lucky  for  Manon  ;  for  the  aldcnnan, 
irritated  by  the  clerk  rviteratin;;  that 
he  could  not  do  this,  and  could  not 
that,  and  could  not  do  t'other,  said 
"  he  would  show  him  he  <wi/f/  do  any- 
thing; he  chose."  And  he  had  Ma- 
non out,  and,  ii[>on  the  landlord  of 
the  "  White  Hart  "  l)ein;;  her  bonds- 
man, and  Denys  depositinjr  five 
>;old  pieci>s  with  him,  and  the  pirl 
promisin;;,  not  without  some  c<tiixinjj 
from  Denys,  to  attend  ns  a  witness, 
he  lil>erated  her,  but  cased  his  con- 
science by  tell  in;;  her  in  bus  oirn 
terms  his  reason  for  this  leniency. 

"  The  town  had  to  buy  a  new  ropo 
for  everyl)oJy  han^red,  and  pii»sent  it 
to  the  bourrcau,  or  else  compound 


THE   CLOISTER  AND   THE  HEARTH. 


149 


with  him  in  money ;  and  she  was 
not,  in  his  opinion,  worth  this  mu- 
nicipal expense  ;  whereas,  decided 
characters  like  her  late  confederates 
were."  And  so  Denys  and  Gerard 
carried  her  off,  Gerard  dancing  round 
her  for  joy,  Denys  keeping  up  her 
heart  by  assuring  her  of  the  demise 
of  a  troublesome  personage,  and  she 
weeping  inauspiciously.  However, 
on  the  road  to  the  "  "White  Hart,"  the 
public  found  her  out,  and  having  heard 
the  whole  story  from  the  archers,  who 
naturally  told  it  warmly  in  her  favor, 
followed  her,  hurrahing  and  encourag- 
ing her,  till,  finding  herself  backed  by 
numbers,  she  plucked  up  heart.  The 
landlord,  too,  saw  at  a  glance  that  her 
presence  in  the  inn  would  draw  cus- 
tom, and  received  her  politely,  and 
assigned  her  an  upper  chamber ; 
here  she  buried  herself,  and,  being 
alone,  rained  tears  again. 

Poor  little  mind  !  it  was  like  a  rip- 
ple, up  and  down,  down  and  up,  up 
and  down.  Bidding  the  landlord  be 
very  kind  to  her,  and  keep  her  a  pris- 
oner without  letting  her  feel  it,  the 
friends  went  out ;  and  lo !  as  they 
stepped  into  the  street,  they  saw  two 
processions  coming  towards  them 
from  opposite  sides.  One  was  a 
large  one,  attended  with  noise  and 
howls,  and  those  indescribable  cries 
by  which  rude  natures  reveal  at  odd 
times  that  relationship  to  the  beasts 
of  the  field  and  forest  which  at  other 
times  we  succeed  in  hiding.  The 
other,  very  thinly  attended  by  a  few 
nuns  and  friars,  came  slow  and  silent. 

The  prisoners  going  to  exposure 
in  the  market-place.  The  gathered 
bones  of  the  victims  coming  to  the 
churchyard. 

And  the  two  met  in  the  narrow 
street  nearly  at  the  inn  door,  and 
could  not  pass  each  other  for  a  long 
time,  and  the  bier,  that  bore  the  relics 
of  mortality,  got  wedged  against  the 
cart  that  carried  the  men  who  had 
made  those  bones  what  they  were,  and 
in  a  few  hours  must  die  fur  it  them- 
selves. The  mob  had  not  the  quick 
intelligence  to  be  at  once  struck  with 


this  stem  meeting ;  but  at  last  a  wo- 
man cried,  "Look  at  your  work,  ye 
dogs ! "  and  the  crowd  took  it  like 
wildfire,  and  there  was  a  horrible  yell, 
and  the  culprits  groaned,  and  tried  to 
hide  their  heads  upon  their  bosoms, 
but  could  not,  their  hands  being  tied. 
And  there  they  stood,  images  of  pale,, 
hollow-eyed  despair,  and  how  they 
looked  on  the  bier,  and  envied  those 
whom  they  had  sent  before  them  on 
the  dark  road  they  were  going  upon 
themselves !  And  the  two  men  Avho 
were  the  cause  of  both  processions 
stood  and  looked  gravely  on,  and  even 
Manon,  hearing  the  disturbance,  crept 
to  the  window,  and,  hiding  her  face, 
peeped  trembling  through  her  fingers, 
as  women  will. 

This  strange  meeting  parted  Denys 
and  Gerard.  The  former  yielded  to 
curiosity  and  revenge,  the  latter  doffed 
his  bonnet  and  piously  followed  the 
poor  remains  of  those  whose  fate  had 
so  nearly  been  his  own.  For  some 
time  he  was  the  one  lay  mourner ;  but 
when  they  had  reached  the  suburbs,  a 
long  way  from  the  greater  attraction 
that  was  filling  the  market-place, 
more  than  one  artisan  threw  down  his 
tools,  and  more  than  one  shopman 
left  his  shop,  and  touched  with  pity, 
or  a  sense  of  our  common  humanity, 
and,  perhaps,  decided  somewhat  by 
the  example  of  Gerard,  followed  the 
bones  bareheaded,  and  saw  them  de- 
posited with  the  prayers  of  the  church 
in  hallowed  ground. 

After  the  funeral  rites  Gerard 
stepped  respectfully  up  to  the  cure, 
and  offered  to  buy  a  mass  for  their 
soids. 

Gerard,  son  of  Catherine,  always 
looked  at  two  sides  of  a  penny ;  and 
he  tried  to  purchase  this  mass  a  trifle 
under  the  usual  temis,  on  account  of 
the  pitiable  circumstances.  But  the 
good  cure'  gently  but  adi'oitly  parried 
his  ingenuity,  and  blandly  sci'ewed 
him  up  to  the  market  price. 

In  the  course  of  the  business  they 
discovered  a  similarity  of  sentimetits. 
Piety  and  worldly  prudence  are  not 
very  rare  companions ;  still  it  is  un- 


150 


THE  CLOISTER   AND   Till:   llKAimi. 


usual  to  rarry  hotli  so  far  as  these 
two  iiu'U  ili<l.     Tlii'ir  rollision  in  the 
))ra\LT  inarki-t  led  to  mutual  esteem, 
as   when    kiiij^ht  eiicountereil   kiii;;ht 
worthy  of  his   steel.      Moreover,   tiie 
ptod  eure  loved  a  hit  of  (jossiji,  ami, 
liiidiii;;   his  customer  was  one  of  those 
who  had  fouu'ht  the  thieves  at  Dorn- 
fi)ri»t,  W(juld  have  him  into  his  parlor 
and  hear  the  whole  from  his  own  li|W.  | 
And  his  heart  warmed  to  (ierard,and 
he  saiil,  "  God  was  j,'ood  to  thee.     I  I 
thank    him  for  't  with  all  my  soul. 
Thou  art   a   j^ot   lad."     lie  added, 
dryly,  "  Sliotildst  have   told   mi>  this  | 
tale   in    the  churehyard.      1   tloiiht   I  ] 
had   t,'iven    thee    the    mass    for    love.  I 
However,"  saiil  he  (the  thermometer 
Budilenly  falling,'),  "  't  is  ill  luek  to  k" 
hark     upon     a     har^^ain.       IJut    1  '11  i 
hroaeh  a  lM>ttle  of  my  old  Medoc   for  I 
thee;  and  few   he  the  jjuests  I  would 
do  that  for."     The  eure'  went  to  his 
euphoanl,  and,  while  he  j;ro|K'd  for  the 
ehoiee  hottle,  he  muttered  to  himself, 
"  At  their  old  trieks  a;,'ain  !  " 

"  riaitil  !  "  said  Gerard. 

"  I  saiil  uau'fht.     Ay,  here  'tis." 

"  Nay,  your  reverence.  You  surely 
spoke  ;  you  said,  '  At  their  old  tricks 
again.'" 

"  Said  I  so,  in  sooth  ?  "  and  his  rev- 
erence smiled.  He  then  proceeded  to 
broach  the  wine,  and  tilled  a  cup  for 
each.  Then  he  put  a  loj;  of  wood  on 
the  tire,  for  stoves  were  none  in  Bnr- 
pundy.  "  And  so  I  saiil,  '  At  their 
old  tricks ! '  did  I  ?  Come,  sip  the 
good  wine,  and,  whilst  it  lasts,  story 
for  story,  1  care  not  if  I  tell  you  a 
little  taie." 

Gerard's  eyes  sparkled. 

"  Thou  lovest  a  story  ?  " 

"  As  my  life." 

"  Nay,  hut  raise  not  thine  expecta- 
tions too  high,  neither.  'T  is  but  a 
foolish  tritle  compared  with  thine  ad- 
vcuturcs. 

THE  CURE'S  TALE. 

"  Once  upon  a  time,  then,  in  the 
Kingdom  of  France  and  in  the  Duchy 
of  Burgundy,  and  not  a  day's  journey 


from  the  town  where  we  now  sit  a  sip. 
ping  of  old  .Meiloe,  there  liveii  —  a 
cure.  I  say  he  lived ;  hut  barely. 
The  parish  w;us  small,  the  parishioners 
greetly,  and  never  gave  their  curc^  u 
doit  more  than  he  could  compel.  'I'ho 
lU'arer  they  brought  him  to  a  diseni- 
iMiilied  s|)irit  by  meagre  diet,  tiie  ImKu^ 
should  Ix-  his  ])ravers  in  their  behalf. 
I  know  not  if  tdis  wils  their  creed, 
but  their  practice  gave  it  color. 

"  At  last  he  pickled  a  nxl  for  them. 

"  One  day  the  richi-st  fanner  in  the 
]>lace  hiul  twins  to  bapti/e.  The  cun5 
wius  had  to  the  christening  diimer  ni 
usual  ;  but,  ere  lu'  wmild  iiapti/e  the 
children,  he  demanded,  not  the  christ- 
ening fees  only,  but  the  burial  fees. 
'  Saints  defend  us,  parson,'  cried  the 
mother  ;  '  talk  not  of  burying.  I  never 
did  see  children  liker  to  live.'  '  Xor 
I,'  said  the  eun-,  '  the  jjraise  be  to 
(lod.  Natheless,  they  are  sure  U)  die  ; 
Ix-ing  sons  of  Adam,  as  well  as  <>{ 
thee,  dame.  But,  die  when  they  wi  I, 
'twill  cost  them  nothing,  the  burial 
fees  being  paid  and  entered  in  this 
lxx)k.'  '  For  all  that,  't  will  cost 
them  something,'  (luoth  the  miller, 
the  greatest  wag  in  the  place,  and  as 
big  a  kmivo  as  any;  for  which  was 
the  biggest  Ciod  knoweth,  but  no 
mortal  man,  not  even  the  hangman. 

*  Miller,  I  tell  thee  nay,'  (juo'  the  cun?. 

*  Parson,  I  tell  you  ay,'  quo'  the  mill- 
er. '  'T  will  cost  tiiem  their  lives.' 
At  which  millstone  conceit  was  a 
great  laugh  ;  and  in  the  general  mirth 
the  fees  were  paid  and  the  Christians 
made. 

"  But  when  tlic  next  parishioner's 
child,  and  the  next  after,  and  all,  had 
to  pay  each  his  burial  fee,  or  lose  his 
place  in  heaven,  discontent  did  secret- 
ly rankle  in  the  parish.  Well,  one 
fine  day  they  met  in  secret,  and  sent 
a  churchwarden  with  a  complaint  to 
the  bishop,  and  a  thunderbolt  fdl  on 
the  poor  cure.  Came  to  him  at  din- 
ner-time a  summons  to  the  epi.scopal 
palace,  to  bring  the  parish  books  and 
answer  certain  ch.irges.  Then  the 
cure  guessed  where  the  shoe  pinched. 
He  left  his  food  on  the  board;  for 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


151 


email  his  appetite  now ;  and  took  the 
parish  books  and  went  quaking. 

"  The  bishop  entertained  him  with 
a  frown,  and  exposed  the  plaint. 
'  Monseigneur/  said  the  cure',  right 
humbly,  '  doth  the  parish  allege  many 
things  against  me,  or  this  one  only  ' ' 
'  In  sooth,  but  this  one,'  said  the 
bishop,  and  softened  a  little.  '  First, 
monseigneur,  I  acknowledge  the  fact.' 
'  'T  is  well,'  quoth  the  bishop  ;  '  that 
saves  time  and  trouble.  Now  to  your 
excuse,  if  excuse  there  be.'  '  Mon- 
seigneur, I  have  been  cure  of  that 
parish  seven  years,  and  fifty  chil- 
dren have  I  baptized,  and  buried  not 
five.  At  first  I  used  to  say.  Heaven 
be  praised,  the  air  of  this  village  is 
main  healthy  ;  but  on  searching  the 
register  book  I  found  't  was  always 
so,  and,  on  probing  the  matter,  it 
came  out  that,  of  those  born  at  Dom- 
fornt,  all  but  here  and  there  one  did 
go  and  get  hanged  at  Aix.  But  this 
was  to  defraud,  not  their  cure  only, 
but  the  entire  Church  of  her  dues, 
since  "  pendards  "  pay  no  funeral  fees, 
being  buried  in  air.  Thereupon,  know- 
ing by  sad  experience  their  greed, 
and  how  they  grudge  the  Church  every 
sou,  I  laid  a  trap  to  keep  them  from 
hanging ;  for,  greed  against  greed, 
there  be  of  them  that  will  die  in  their 
beds  like  true  men,  ere  the  Church 
shall  gain  those  funeral  fees  for 
naught.'  Then  the  bishop  laughed  till 
the  tears  ran  down,  and  questioned 
the  churchwarden,  and  he  was  fain  to 
confess  that  too  many  of  the  parish 
did  come  to  an  unlucky  end  at  Aix. 
'  Then,'  said  the  bishop,  '  I  do  ap- 
prove the  act  for  myself  and  my  suc- 
cessors ;  and  so  be  it  ever,  till  they 
mend  their  manners  and  die  in  their 
beds.'  And  the  next  day  came  the 
ringleaders,  crestfallen,  to  the  cure  and 
said,  '  Parson,  yc  were  ever  good  to 
us,  barring  this  untoward  matter ; 
prithee  let  there  be  no  ill  blood  anent 
so  trivial  a  thing.'  And  the  cure 
said,  'My  children,  I  were  unworthy 
to  be  your  pastor,  could  I  not  forgive 
a  wrong  ;  go  in  peace,  and  get  me  as 
many  children  as  may  be,  that  by  the 


double  fees  the  cure'  you  love  may 
miss  starvation.' 

"And  the  bishop  often  told  the  story, 
and  it  kept  his  memory  of  the  cure 
alive ;  and  at  Uist  he  shifted  him  to 
a  decent  parish,  where  he  can  oft'er  a 
glass  of  old  ^Medoc  to  sucli  as  are 
worthy  of  it.  Their  name  it  is  not 
legion." 

A  light  broke  in  upon  Gerard  ;  his 
countenance  showed  it. 

"  Ay  !  "  said  his  host,  "  I  am  that 
cure  ;  so  now  thou  canst  guess  why  I 
said,  'At  their  old  tricks.'  My  life 
on  't,  they  have  wheedled  my  succes- 
sor into  remitting  those  funeral  fees. 
You  are  well  out  of  that  parish ;  and 
so  am  I." 

The  cure's  little  niece  burst  in, 
"  Uncle,  the  weighing  :  —  la  !  a  stran- 
ger !  "  and  burst  out. 

The  cure'  rose  directly,  but  would 
not  part  with  Gerard. 

"  Wet  thy  beard  once  more,  and 
come  with  me." 

In  the  church  porch  they  found  the 
sexton  with  a  huge  pair  of  scales,  and 
weights  of  all  sizes.  Several  humble 
persons  were  standing  by,  and  soon  a 
woman  stepped  fonvard  with  a  sickly 
child  and  said,  "  Be  it  heavy,  be  it 
light,  I  vow,  in  rye  meal  of  the  best, 
whate'er  this  child  shall  weigh,  and  the 
same  will  duly  pay  to  holy  Church, 
an'  if  he  shall  cast  his  trouble.  Pray, 
good  people,  for  this  child,  and  for  me 
his  mother,  liither  come  in  dole  and 
care  !  " 

The  child  was  weighed,  and  yelled 
as  if  the  scale  had  been  the  font. 

"  Courage,  dame  !  "  cried  Gerard. 
"  This  is  a  good  sign.  There  is  plenty 
of  life  here  to  battle  its  trouble." 

"  Now,  blest  be  the  tongue  that 
tells  me  so,"  said  the  poor  woman. 
She  hushed  her  ponderling  against 
her  bosom,  and  stood  aloof  watching, 
whilst  another  woman  brought  her 
child  to  scale. 

But  presently  a  loud,  dictatorial 
voice  was  heard.  "  Way  there,  make 
way  for  the  seigneur  !  " 

The    small  folk    parted  on    both 


152 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


sidefl,  like  waves  ploiiKhod  }>y  n  lonlly 
giillcv,  utid  ill  iimrclu-<l,  in  );i)r;;i'<)iis 
attire,  ills  ("aj)  iii|orm-<l  with  a  iVallicr 
with  a  tiipii/.  at  its  ruot,  his  jtrkiii 
richly  fiirntl,  satin  ilouhlt-t,  n-d  hi^e-, 
shoes  iiko  .-katc-s,  (liainuiid  -  hiited 
swurd  in  velvet  8cal)liard,  and  hawk 
on  his  wrist, '"  the  lord  of  thi-  manor." 
Ilf  lliin;,'  himself  into  the  muIivs  as  if 
he  wa.s  lonl  of  the  zodiac  as  well  as 
the  manor ;  whereat  the  hawk  hal- 
uMi-ed  and  ilu|>{)ed,  but  stuck ;  then 
winked. 

While  the  sexton  heaved  in  the 
fjreit  weights,  the  cure'  told  (lernrd, 
"  .M  V  lord  had  Ikh-u  sick  unto  ileath, 
and  vowed  lii>  wi'i;;ht  in  hread  and 
cheese  to  the  poor,  the  Church  taking 
her  tenth." 

"  I'ennit  me,  my  lord  ;  if  your  lord- 
»hi|)  continues  to  press  with  your 
lordship's  start"  on  the  other  scale,  you 
will  diiturli  the  Imlancc." 

His  lordship  ;;rinned  and  removed 
his  start',  and  leaned  on  it.  The  cure' 
politely  but  Hrmly  objected  to  that 
t<;o. 

"  Mille  dialiles  !  what  nm  I  lo  do 
with  it,  then  ?  "  crietl  the  other. 

'•  l)ei>;ii  ti>  hold  it  out  so,  my  lord, 
wide  of  l)otli  scales." 

When  my  lord  did  this,  and  so  fell 
into  the  tni|)  he  had  laid  for  holy 
Church,  the  ^ood  cure  whispered  to 
(Jerard,  "  Cretensis  incidit  in  I'reten- 
s<.-m  !  "  which  I  take  to  mean.  Dia- 
mond cut  diamond.  lie  then  said 
with  an  ol)^e<piious  air,  "  If  that  vour 
lorlsliip  ^rrnilires  Heaven  full  wui;;ht, 
you  mi;;ht  set  the  hawk  on  your  lack- 
ey, and  so  save  a  jK^uniL" 

"  (Jramercy  for  thy  rede,  cun?," 
cried  the  j,'reat  man,  reproachfully. 
"  Shall  I  for  one  sorrv  ]K)und  gnidi:e 
my  ])0or  fowl  the  iK'nefit  of  holy 
Church  >  I  'd  as  lievc  the  Devil 
should  have  me  and  all  my  house  as 
her,  any  day  i'  the  year." 

"  Sweet  is  atfection,"  whispered  the 
cnn?. 

"  Between  a  bird  and  a  brute," 
whispered  Gerard. 

"  Tush  !  "  and  the,  cure  looked  ter- 
rified. 


The  soipneur's  weight  wa."»  booka& 
and  Heaven,  I  trust  and  U-lieve,  did 
not  wei;;h  his  gratitude  in  the  buUuice 
of  the  sanctuary. 

For  my  uidcarned  reader  is  not  to 
sup|H»e  there  was  anything  the  least 
ecientric  in  the  man,  or  his  gratitude 
to  the  (fiver  of  health  and  all  goiMl 
gil't.s.  .Men  look  forward  to  death 
and  back  u|Min  pa>t  ^ieknos  witli<lif- 
ferent  eyes.  Here,  when  men  ilrivc  a 
bargain,  thev  strive  to  get  the  sunny 
side  of  it  ;  it  matters  not  one  straw 
whether  it  is  with  man  or  Heaven  they 
are  barpiining.  In  this  resjK'ct  we 
are  the  same  now,  at  iMittom,  as  we 
werv"  four  hundred  \ears  ago  ;  only  in 
those  days  we  tlid  it  a  grain  or  two 
more  naively,  ami  that  naivete  shono 
out  more  palpably,  U-t-ause,  in  ihat 
ruile  age,  IxMly  i)revailing  over  mind, 
all  sentiments  took  material  forms. 
Man  repcnti'd  with  scoiirgi-s,  pray.'il 
by  JM-ad,  liriU-d  the  saint.s  witli  w<l\ 
taiMT,  put  tish  into  the  IkmIv  to  sa*  e- 
tity  the  soul,  .sojourned  in  cold  w.ier 
for  em[>iro  over  the  emotions,  nd 
thanked  Go<l  for  returning  health  in  1 
cwt.  '2  stone  7  lb.  3  oz.  1  dwt.  of  bread 
and  cheese. 

Whilst  I  have  l)ccn  preaching,  who 
prea<h  so  randy  and  so  ill,  the  good 
iiiTv  has  been  soliciting  the  lord  of 
the  minor  to  stej)  into  the  church, 
and  give  order  what  shall  Im-  done 
with  his  great-great-grandfather. 

"  <  )ds  IxHlikins  !  what,  have  you 
dug  him  up  / 

"  Nay,  my  lord,  he  never  was  bu- 
rial." 

"  What,  the  old  diet  was  true  after 
all  ?  " 

"  So  true,  that  the  workmen  this 
very  day  fmnd  a  skeleton  erect  in 
the  pillar  they  are  repairing.  I  had 
sent  to  my  lord  at  once,  but  I  knew 
he  would  lie  here." 

"  It  is  he  !  'T  is  he  !  "  .said  his  de- 
scendant, quickening  his  pace.  "  Let 
us  go  see  the  old  bov.  This  youth  \» 
a  stranger,  I  think. '^ 

(rerard  bowed. 

"  Know  then,  that  my  great-g^ea^ 
oraudfather  held  his  head  high,  and, 


THE   CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


153 


being  on  the  point  of  death,  revolted 
against  lying  under  the  aisle  with  his 
forbears  for  mean  folk  to  pass  over. 
So,  as  the  tradition  goes,  he  swore  his 
son  (my  gi'eat-grandfather)  to  bury 
him  erect  in  one  of  the  pillars  of  the 
church  "  (here  they  entered  the  porch). 
^'For,  quoth  he,  '  NO  BASE  MAN 
SHALL  PASS  OVER  MY  STOM- 
ACH.' Peste  !  "  and,  even  while 
speaking,  his  lordship  parried  adroit- 
ly with  his  stick  a  skidl  that  came 
hopping  at  him,  bowled  hy  a  boy  in 
the  middle  of  the  aisle,  who  took  to 
his  heels,  yelling  with  fear,  the  moment 
he  saw  what  he  had  done.  His  lord- 
ship hurled  tlie  skull  furiously  after 
him  as  he  ran,  at  which  the  cure  gave 
a  shout  of  dismay,  and  put  forth  his 
arm  to  hinder  him,  but  was  too  late. 

The  cure'  groaned  aloud.  And,  as 
if  this  had  evoked  spirits  of  mischief, 
up  started  a  whole  pack  of  children 
from  some  ambuscade,  and  unseen,  but 
heard  loud  enough,  clattered  out  of 
the  church  like  a  covey  rising  in  a 
thick  wood. 

"  0  these  pernicious  brats  !  "  cried 
the  cure'.  "  The  workmen  cannot  go 
to  their  nonemete  but  the  church  is  rife 
with  them.  Pray  Heaven  they  have 
not  found  his  late  lordship ;  nay, 
I  mind,  I  hid  his  lordship  under  a 
workman's  jerkin,  and  —  saints  de- 
fend us !  the  jerkin  has  been  re- 
moved." 

The  poor  cure's  worst  misgivings 
were  realized ;  the  rising  generation 
of  plebeians  had  played  the  mischief 
with  the  haught}^  old  noble.  "  The 
little  ones  had  jockeyed  for  the  bones 
oh,"  and  pocketed  such  of  them  as 
seemed  adapted  for  certain  primitive 
games  then  in  vogue  amongst  them. 

"  I  '11  excommunicate  them,"  roared 
the  curate,  "  and  all  their  race." 

"  Never  heed,"  said  the  scapegrace 
lord,  and  stroked  his  hawk  ;  "  there 
is  enough  of  him  to  swear  by.  Put 
him  back  !  put  him  back  !  " 

"  Surely,  my  lord,  't  is  your  will 
his  bones  be  laid  in  hallowed  earth, 
and  masses  said  for  his  poor  prideful 
soul  1 " 


The  noble  stroked  his  hawk. 

"  Are  ye  there.  Master  Cure  ?  " 
said  he.  "Nay,  the  business  is  too 
old  :  he  is  out  of  purgatory  by  this 
time,  up  or  down.  I  shall  not  draw 
my  purse-strings  for  him.  Every  dog 
his  day.  Adieu,  Messires,  adieu,  an- 
cestor "  ;  and  he  sauntered  off,  whis- 
tling to  his  hawk  and  caressing  it. 

His  reverence  looked  ruefully  after 
him. 

"  Cretensis  incidit  in  Cretensem," 
said  he,  sorrowfully.  "  I  thought  I 
had  him  safe  for  a  dozen  masses. 
Yet  I  blame  him  not,  but  that  young 
ne'er-do-weel  which  did  trundle  his 
ancestor's  skull  at  us  ;  for  who  could 
venerate  his  great- groat -grandsire, 
and  play  football  with  his  head? 
Well,  it  behooves  us  to  be  better  Cliris- 
tians  than  he  is."  So  they  gathered 
the  bones  reverently,  and  the  cure 
locked  them  up,  and  forbade  the  work- 
men, who  now  entered  the  church,  to 
close  up  the  pillar,  till  he  siiould  re- 
cover by  threats  of  the  Church's  wrath 
every  atom  of  my  lord.  And  he 
showed  Gerard  a  famous  shrine  in  the 
church.  Before  it  were  the  usual 
gifts  of  tapers,  &c.  There  was  also  a 
wax  image  of  a  falcon,  most  curious- 
ly moulded  and  colored  to  the  life, 
eyes  and  all.  Gerard's  eye  fell  at 
once  on  this,  and  he  expressed  the 
liveliest  admiration.  The  cure  as- 
sented. Then  Gerard  asked,  "  Could 
the  saint  have  loved  hawking  ?  " 

The  cure  laughed  at  his  simplicity. 
"  Nay,  't  is  but  a  statuary  hawk. 
When  they  have  a  bird  of  gentle 
breed  they  cannot  train,  they  make 
his  image,  and  send  it  to  this  shrine 
with  a  present,  and  pray  the  saint  to 
work  upon  the  stubborn  mind  of  the 
original,  and  make  it  ductile  as  wax  ; 
that  is  the  notion,  and  methinks  a 
reasonable  one  too." 

Gerard  assented.  "  But  alack,  rev- 
erend sir,  were  I  saint,  methinks  I 
should  side  with  the  innocent  dove, 
rather  than  with  the  cruel  hawk  that 
rends  her." 

"  By  St.  Denys,  you  are  right,"  said 
the  cure.      "  But   que  voulez-vous  *? 


154 


Tin:  CLOISTLR  AND  THK  IIKARTH. 


the  saints  nro  (lcl)onair,  ami  liavc  been 
flesh  thfinsilvfs.  and  know  niiin's 
frailty  ami  ulisurditv.  'T  !•*  the  liish- 
oj>  of  Avignon  sent  this  onu." 

"  What,  du  biithupd  hawk  in  this 
country  1  " 

"  <)m;  and  all.  Every  noble  |K'rson 
hawks,  and  lives  with  hawk  on  wrist. 
Why,  my  lord  al)lK)t  hard  by,  and  his 
lonUhip'  that  lui-s  just  parted  from 
us,  had  a  two  years'  feud  as  to  where 
they  should  piit  their  hawks  down  on 
that  very  altar  there.  Kaeh  elainied 
the  ri;;ht  hami  of  the  altar  fur  his 
bird." 

"  What  de8c<Tation  !  " 

"  Nay !  nay  !  thou  knowcst  we 
make  them  dot!"  iMith  ^,'Iove  and  hawk 
f')  take  the  l>le.-.seil  Kuehari>t.  Their 
jewelled  gloves  will  they  j;ive  to  a 
servant  or  simple  Christian  to  hoM  ; 
but  their  Inloved  hawks  they  will  put 
down  on  no  placx>  icus  than  tliu  al- 
tar." 

(ierard  im|uin-d  how  the  battle  uf 
the  hawks  ended. 

"  Why,  the  al>l>ot  be  yirldeil,  iH  the 
Chureh  vields  to  laym«n.  lie  s»-arehed 
amii'iit  V>uks,  and  found  that  the  left 
hand  wa^  the  more  honorable,  U-in;; 
in  truth  theri;;ht  hand,  sinee  the  altar 
is  east,  but  looks  westward,  iso  he 
pave  my  lord  the  soi-<lisant  rijiht 
hand,  and  eonteiited  liimself  with  tlie 
real  ri;;hl  band  ;  and  even  so  may  the 
Chureh  .^till  outwit  the  lay  nobles  and 
their  arro;;anetf,  saving  your  pres- 
cnee." 

"  Nay,  sir,  I  honor  the  Chureh.  I 
am  eonvent-brtHi,  and  owe  all  1  have 
ond  am  to  holy  Chureh." 

"Ah,  that  aecounts  for  my  sudden 
likin;;  to  thee.  Art  a  ^rracious  yotJth. 
Come  and  sec  me  whenever  thou 
wilt." 

(Jerard  took  this  as  n  hint  that  he 
mijxht  t^G  now.  It  jumped  witii  his 
own  wish,  for  lie  was  eurioiis  to  hear 
what  Denys  had  seen  and  done  all  this 
time.  He  maile  his  n-verence  and 
walked  out  of  tlic  ehurch,  but  was 
no  sooner  clear  of  it  than  he  set  off 
to  run  with  all  his  mij^lit  ;  and,  tear- 
ing round  a  corner,  ran  into  a  large 


stomach,  whose  owner  elutehod  him 
to  keep  hims<-lf  steady  under  the 
shiH'k,  but  did  not  n-leiLse  liis  hold 
on  rv<faining  his  ei{uilibrium. 

"  lA,'t  p>,  nnui,"  saiil  (Jerard. 

"  Not  »o.     You  are  my  jirisoncr." 

"  I'ri.soner  t  " 

"  Av." 

"  What  for,  in  Heaven's  name  1  " 

"  What  for?     Whv,  sorcery." 

"SOUCKUY?" ' 

"  Soreerv." 


CHAl'TKll    XXXVI. 

The  culprits  were  condemne<l  to 
stand  pinioned  in  the  inarket-pliu'O 
for  two  hours,  that,  should  any  pi-r- 
.sons  reeo;,'iiize  them  or  anv  of  them 
as  guilty  of  other  erimes,  tliey  mif;hl 
deiMKM-  to  that  etVeet  at  the  trial. 

riiey  stocMl,  however,  the  whole  |>c- 
riiMl,  and  no  one  advanced  anything 
fnsh  a^piinst  tbeni.  This  was  tho 
le>s  remarkiible  that  they  were  night 
birds,  vampires  who  preyed  in  ilio 
(lark  on  weary  travellers,  mostly 
strangt-rs. 

Hut,  just  as  they  were  l)eing  taken 
down,  a  fearful  scream  was  heard  in 
the  crowd,  and  a  woman  {>ointed  at 
•»iie  of  them,  with  eyes  almost  start- 
ing from  their  .sockets  ;  but  ere  she 
coulil  s|»eak  she  fainted  away. 

Thru  men  and  women  crowded 
round  her,  partly  to  aid  her,  partly 
from  curiosity.  When  she  iN-gaii  to 
rei-over,  they  fell  to  conjectures. 

"  'T  was  at  him  she  i)ointed." 

"  Nay,  't  was  at  this  one." 

"  Nay,  nay,"  said  another,  "  't  was 
at  yon  ban^'dog  with  the  hair  hung 
rountl  his  neck." 

All  further  conjecture  was  cut 
short.  The  j>oor  creature  no  sooner 
recovered  her  senses  than  she  flew  at 
the  landlord  like  a  lioness.  "  Mv 
child!  Man!  man!  (iivc  me  back 
my  child."  And  she  geizc<l  the  glossy 
golden  hair  that  the  officers  had  htmg 
round  his  neck,  ami  tore  it  from  his 
neck,  and  covered  it  with  kisses  ;  then, 
her  poor  confused  mind  clearing,  she 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


155 


saw  even  by  this  token  that  her  lost 
girl  was  dead,  and  sank  suddenly 
down  shrieking  and  sobbing  so  over 
the  poor  hair  that  the  crowd  rushed 
on  the  assassin  with  one  savage 
growl.  His  life  had  ended  then  and 
speedily,  for  in  those  days  all  carried 
death  at  their  girdles  ;  but  Denys 
drew  his  sword  directly,  and  shouting 
"  A  moi,  camarades  !  "  kept  the  mob 
at  bay.  "  Who  lays  a  finger  on  him 
dies."  Other  archers  backed  him, 
and  with  some  difficulty  they  kept 
him  uninjured,  while  Denys  appealed 
to  those  who  shouted  for  his  blood. 

"  What  sort  of  vengeance  is  this  ? 
would  you  be  so  mad  as  rob  the  wheel, 
and  give  the  vennin  an  easy  death  ?  " 

The  mob  was  kept  passive  by  the 
archers'  steel,  rather  than  by  Denys's 
words,  and  growled  at  intervals  with 
flashing  eyes.  The  municipal  officers, 
seeing  this,  collected  round,  and  with 
the  archers  made  a  guard,  and  pru- 
dently carried  the  accused  back  to 
jail. 

The  mob  hooted  them  and  the 
prisoners  indiscriminately.  Denys 
saw  the  latter  safely  lodged,  then  made 
for  the  "  White  Hart,"  where  he  ex- 
pected to  find  Gerard. 

On  the  way  he  saw  two  girls  work- 
ing at  a  first-Hoor  window.  He  saluted 
them.  They  smiled.  He  entered  into 
conversation.  Their  manners  were 
easy,  their  complexion  high. 

He  invited  them  to  a  repast  at  the 
"  White  Hart."  They  objected.  He 
acquiesced  in  their  refusal.  They 
consented.  And  in  this  charming 
society  he  forgot  all  about  poor  Ge- 
rard, who,  meantime,  was  carried  oflT 
to  jail,  but  on  the  way  suddenly 
stopped,  having  now  somewhat  re- 
covered his  presence  of  mind,  and 
demanded  to  know  by  whose  authority 
he  was  arrested.  "  By  the  vicc-bail- 
lie's,"  said  the  constable. 

"  The  vice-baillie  !  Alas  !  what 
have  I,  a  stranger,  done  to  offend  a 
vice-baillie  ?  For  this  charge  of  sor- 
cery must  be  a  blind.  No  sorcerer 
am  I,  but  a  poor  lad  far  from  his 
home." 


This  vague  shift  disgusted  the  offi- 
cer. "  Show  liim  the  capias,  Jacques," 
said  he. 

Jacques  held  out  the  writ  in  both 
hands,  about  a  yard  and  a  half  from 
Gerard's  eye ;  and  at  the  same  mo- 
ment the  large  constable  suddenly 
pinned  him ;  both  officers  were  on 
tenter-hooks  lest  the  prisoner  should 
grab  the  document,  to  which  they  at- 
tached a  superstitious  importance. 

But  the  poor  prisoner  had  no  such 
thought.  Query,  whether  he  would 
have  touched  it  with  the  tongs.  He 
just  craned  out  his  neck  and  read  it, 
and,  to  his  infinite  surprise,  found  the 
vice-bailift'  who  had  signed  the  writ 
was  the  friendly  alderman.  He  took 
courage,  and  assured  his  captor  there 
was  some  error.  But,  finding  he  made 
no  impression,  demanded  to  be  taken 
before  the  alderman. 

"  What  say  you  to  that,  Jacques  1 " 

"  Impossible.  We  have  no  orders 
to  take  him  before  his  worship.  Read 
the  writ !  " 

"  Nay,  but,  good,  kind  fellows,  what 
harm  can  it  be  .'  I  will  give  ye  each 
an  mi." 

"  Jacques,  what  say  you  to  that  ?  " 

"  Humph  ?  I  say  we  have  no  orders 
not  to  take  him  to  his  worship.  Read 
the  writ ! " 

"  Then  say  we  take  him  to  prison 
round  by  his  worship." 

It  was  agreed.  They  got  the  mon- 
ey, and  bade  Gerard  observe  they 
were  doing  him  a  favor.  He  saw 
they  wanted  a  little  gratitude  as  well 
as  much  silver.  He  tried  to  satisfy 
/A is  cupidity,  but  it  stuck  in  his  throat. 
Feigning  was  not  his  forte. 

He  entered  the  alderman's  presence 
with  his  heart  in  his  mouth,  and 
begged  with  faltering  voice  to  know 
M'hat  he  had  done  to  offend  since  he 
left  that  very  room  with  Manon  and 
Denys. 

"  Naught  that  I  know  of,"  said  the 
alderman. 

On  the  writ  being  shown  him,  he 
told  Gerard  he  had  signed  it  at  day 
break.  "  I  get  old,  and  my  memory 
faileth  me  :  a  discussing  of  the  girl,  I 


lOG 


Tin:   CLOISTKK    AND   TllK   ilKAUIlI. 


i|uito  forpot  your  own  offence  :  hut  I 
niaenilHT  now.  All  is  well.  Vou 
urc  111'  I  i-oinmitti'il  for  sori-ory.  Stay  ! 
ere  vou  i,'o  to  jail,  you  mIiuII  lu-ar  what 
your  lucu.sor  says  ;  run  and  tVitli  liini, 
you." 

Tho  man  lould  not  fiinl  the  aiTti.sor 
all  at  oiirc  ;  .so  the  ahhrniau,  ^ettiu;; 
inipatitiit,  tol<l(ierar>l  the  main  ehar;;c  | 
wa-H  that  he  hail   set  n  ileail   UmIv  a  j 
huniiii^    with    <lialM)!ieal     lin-,     that  i 
llauitd,  hut  iliil  not  n)nNUine.     "  Anil 
if  't  is   true,  youii;;  man,  1  'm  .sorry  ! 
for  thiv,  f..r  thou  wilt  itsHureilly  burn 
with    tire   of  h<mm1   pino    lo;js  in    the 
iiiarket-|>la(-e  of  Neufeha.steau." 

•■  ()  Hir,  for  pity'.H  sake  let  me  have 
speech  with  his  reverence  the  cure." 

The  ulilernian  ailvised  (iernnl 
n;;ainst  it.  "  The  Church  was  hnnler 
upon  sorcerers  than  was  the  corjxjra- 
tifti." 

"  Hut,  »ir,  I  am  iniXM-eni,"  said 
(leraril,  hetw«vn  snarling  and  whin- 

"  O,  ifyou  —  ihiHK  — you  arc  innocent 
—  oflher,  yo  with  him  to  the  curd! 
hut  see  he  'scajn;  you  not.  Iiunjcont, 
ipiotha  '  " 

They  found  the  cur\''  in  his  douhlet, 
npairin;;  a  wheelh.irrow.  (ierard 
tolil  him  all,  and  a|>|H'ale4l  pitemis- 
Iv  to  him.  "Just  for  usinjj  a  lit- 
tle phosphorus  —  in  self-defence  — 
a;:aiust  cutthroats  they  are  K"'n>r  'o 
hail;;." 

It  Wivs  lucky  for  our  ma;;ician  that 
he  had  already  told  his  talc  in  full  to 
the  cure  :  for  thus  that  shrewd  jht- 
soua^>  had  hold  of  the  stick  at  the 
ri;;lit  cud.  The  corporation  held  it 
liy  the  ferule.  His  rcven-me  looked 
exceediu;,'ly  ^rave,  and  said  :  "  I  must 
iliic.-<tion  you  privately  on  this  unto- 
ward business.  '  He  t<M)k  him  into  a 
private  room, and  hatle  the  otlicx-r  stand 
outside  and  j^uard  the  door,  and  l>e 
rcaily  to  come  if  called.  The  hi^ 
constable  stootl  outside  the  door,  (juak- 
iii::,  and  exjH*ctiui;  to  see  the  nnjin  tly 
away  and  leave  a  stink  of  brimstone. 
Instantly  they  were  alone,  the  cure 
I'uloikcil  his  countenance,  and  was 
bimself  again. 


"  Shew  mo  the  trick  on  't,"  Mid 
he,  all  curiosity. 

"  I  cannot,  sir,  unless  the  roum  be 
ilarkeii.'d  " 

The  cure  speedily  close«l  out  the 
liyht  with  a  woo«len  shutter.  "  Now 
then." 

"  But  on  what  shall  I  put  it  f  "  baid 
Gerard. 

"  Mere  is  no  dea«l  face.  'T  was 
that  made  it  look  m)  dire."  The  cure 
^roiH-d  alxiut  the  ro4im.  "  (  J<mk1  ;  hero 
is  an  ima;;e;  't  is  my  imtrun  iiaint." 

"  I  leaven  forbid!  fhat  were  pro- 
fanation." 

"  I'shaw  !  't  will  riili  olV,  —  will  't 
not  f  " 

"  Av,  hut  it  yiKvs  a;;ain><t  me  to  tako 
such  iiU-rty  with  a  sain.,"  objei-ted 
the  sorcerer. 

"  Fiddlestick  !  "  naid  nie  divine. 

"  To  Ih!  sun-  my  ,i'.i(iin^  it  ou  his 
holiness  will  shov  your  rcvervncu  it 
is  no  Satanic  art." 

"  Mavhap  't  was  for  that  I  did  pro- 
yn>M'  it,  '  saiil  the  cun*,  subtly. 

Thus  eiicourai;ed,  (Jcrard  fired  the 
eyes  and  nostrils  of  the  ima:.'e,  and 
made  the  cure  jump.  Tlu-n  li^hieil  up 
the  hair  in  patches,  and  .set  the  whole 
fa«v  shining  like  a  irlow-wonn's. 

"  Hy  'r  lady,"  shi>uted  the  cnn5, 
'l  is  stran;re,  and  small  my  wonder 
that  they  look  you  for  a  nui;.'ician, 
seeing'  a  dead  face  thus  f\re<l.  Now 
come  thy  ways  with  me  !  " 

He  put  on  his  irray  irown  and  irreat 
hat,  ami  in  a  few  minutes  they  found 
themselves  in  pres«-ncc  of  thi-  alder- 
man. By  his  side,  {M)is4inin^  his 
mind,  sto<Ml  the  ttccus<>r,  —  a  siii(;ular 
tiiriire  in  red  ho>e  and  red  shoes,  a 
black  p>wn  with  blue  hands,  and  a 
cocke<l  hat. 

After  saluting  the  alderman,  tho 
cure  turned  to  this  j)ersonatrc  nnd 
said  ^cKxl-hiimore<lly  :  "  So,  Manpis, 
at  thy  work  apain,  hahbling  away 
honest  men's  lives  !  Come,  your 
worship,  this  is  the  old  tale;  two  of 
a  trade  can  never  a;:rtr.  Here  is 
Maniris,  who  professes  sorcery,  and 
would  sell  him.self  to  Satan  to-ni^'ht, 
but  that  Sutan  i^i  not  so  weak  as  buji 


THE   CLOISTER  AND   THE  HEARTH. 


157 


what  he  can  have  gratis  ;  this  Man- 
gis,  who  would  be  a  sorcerer,  hut  is 
only  a  quacksalver,  accuses  of  magic 
a  true  lad,  who  did  but  use  in  self- 
det'ence  a  secret  of  chemistry  well 
known  to  me  and  to  all  churchmen." 

"  But  he  is  no  churchman,  to  dab- 
ble in  such  mysteries,"  objected  the 
alderman. 

"  He  is  more  churchman  than  lay- 
man, being  convent-bred,  and  in  the 
lesser  orders,"  said  the  ready  cure. 
"  Therefore,  sorcerer,  withdraw  thy 
plaint  without  more  words." 

"  That  will  I  not,  your  reverence," 
replied  Mangis,  stoutly.  "  A  sorcerer 
I  am,  but  a  white  one,  not  a  black 
one.  I  make  no  pact  with  Satan, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  still  battle  him 
with  lawful  and  necessary  arts.  I 
ne'er  profane  the  sacraments,  as  do 
the  black  sorcerers,  nor  turn  myself 
into  a  cat  and  go  sucking  infants' 
blood,  nor  e'en  their  breath,  nor  set 
dead  men  o'  fire.  I  but  tell  the  peas- 
ants when  their  cattle  and  their  hens 
are  possessed,  and  at  what  time  of 
the  moon  to  plant  r3-e,  and  what  days 
in  each  month  arc  lucky  for  wooing 
of  women  and  selling  of  bullocks, 
and  so  forth ;  above  all,  it  is  my  art 
and  my  trade  to  detect  the  black  ma- 
gicians, as  I  did  that  whole  tribe  of 
them  who  were  burnt  at  Dol  but  last 
year." 

"Ay,  Mangis.  And  what  is  the 
upshot  of  that  famous  fire  thy  tongue 
did  kindle  1 " 

"  Why,  tlieir  ashes  were  cast  to  the 
wind." 

"  Ay.  But  the  true  end  of  thy 
comedy  is  this.  The  parliament  of 
Dijon  hath  since  sifted  the  matter, 
and  found  they  were  no  sorcerers,  but 
good  and  peaceful  citizens  ;  and  but 
last  week  did  order  masses  to  be  said 
for  their  souls,  and  expiatoiy  farces 
and  mysteries  to  be  played  for  them 
in  seven  towns  of  Burgundy;  all 
which  will  not  of  those  cinders  make 
men  and  women  again.  Now 't  is  our 
custom  in  this  land,  when  we  have 
slain  the  innocent  by  hearkening  false 
knaves  like   thee,  not  to  blame  our 


credulous  cars,  but  the  false  tongue 
that  gulled  them.  Wherefore  bethink 
thee  that,  at  a  word  from  me  to  my 
lord  bishop,  thou  wilt  smell  burning 
pine  nearer  than  e'er  knave  smelt  it 
and  lived,  and  wilt  travel  on  a  smoky 
cloud  to  him  whose  heart  thou  bearest 
(for  the  word  '  devil '  in  the  Latin,  it 
meaneth  '  false  accuser' ),  and  whose 
livery  thou  wearest." 

And  the  cure'  pointed  to  Mangis 
with  his  staff. 

"  That  is  true,  i'  fegs,"  said  the  al- 
derman, "  for  red  and  black  be  the 
foul  fiendy's  colors." 

By  this  time  the  white  sorcerer's 
cheek  was  as  colorless  as  his  dress 
was  fiery.  Indeed,  the  contrast 
amounted  to  pictorial.  He  stam- 
mered out,  "  I  respect  holy  Church 
and  her  will ;  he  shall  fire  the  church- 
yard, and  all  in  it,  for  me;  I  do  with- 
draw the  plaint." 

"  Then  withdraw  thyself,"  said  the 
vice-bailiff. 

The  moment  he  was  gone,  the  cure 
took  the  conversational  tone,  and  told 
the  alderman  courteously  that  the  ac- 
cused had  received  the  chemical  sub- 
stance from  holy  Church,  and  had 
restored  it  her  by  giving  it  all  to  him. 

"  Then  't  is  in  good  hands "  was 
the  reply ;  "  young  man,  you  are 
free.  Let  me  have  your  reverence's 
prayers." 

"  Doubt  it  not !  Humph  ?  Vice- 
baillie,  the  town  owes  me  four  silver 
francs  this  three  months  and  more." 

"  They  shall  be  paid,  cure,  ay,  ere 
the  week  be  out." 

On  this  good  understanding  Cliurch 
and  State  parted.  As  soon  as  he  was 
in  the  street,  Gerard  caught  the 
priest's  hand,  and  kissed  it. 

"  O  sir  !  O  your  reverence  ;  you 
have  saved  me  from  the  fiery  stake. 
What  can  I  say,  what  do  1  what  —  " 

"  Naught,  foolish  lad.  Bounty  re- 
wards itself.  Natheless  —  Humph? 
—  I  wish  I  had  done  't  without  leas- 
ing. It  ill  becomes  my  function  to 
utter  falsehoods." 

"  Falsehood,  sir  1  "  Gerard  wa« 
mystified. 


158 


THE   CLOlSTi;i;    ANH    THK   IIKAKTH. 


"  Didst  not  hoar  me  »a_v  thou  hailst 
(jiveii  IMC  thiit  suiiu-  phosphorus  i 
"r  will  cost  iiiL'  a  l'ortiii;;(it's  in-nuiu'c, 
thiit  liu'ht  woril."  The  curu  si;;hcd, 
mill  his  eye  iwiiikU'd  cuniiiii;rly. 

"  Niiv.  iiiiv,"  rrii'd  (icnml,  i-iij^itIv. 
"  Now,  Hciiviii  Corbiil !  'I'liat  wiLs  no 
fiilsihood,  fathiT  ;  wrll  you  kmw  tin- 
I»hosplu)rus  wius  yours,  is  yours."' 
And  hf  thrust  tlie  Injttlo  into  the 
cunfn  hand.  "  Uut,  alas,  't  is  too 
j)oor  a  i;it't ;  will  you  not  take  from 
inv  |>urso  somewhat  for  holy  Cliun-h  ' 
and  now  ho  lu-ld  out  his  purso  with 
^liitcniiii;  ryes. 

"  Niiy,"  said  the  other,  l>nis(iui'ly, 
and  put  his  hands  (piiikly  Uhind 
hiiii.  "not  a  doit.  Fie!  ho!  art 
pnii|Hr  ct  fxul.  Come  thou  rather 
eaoli  day  at  n<><in  antl  take  thy  diet 
with  me;  fur  my  heart  w:inns  to 
tlietr  "  ;  and  he  went  off  very  adruptly 
with  his  hands  l)cliind  him. 

They  itelie<|. 

Hilt  they  iielied  in  vain. 

Where  there  'a  a  lieart  there  's  n 
Kuliitun. 

(Jerard  went  hastily  to  the  inn  to 
relieve  Deiiys  of  the  anxiety  so  loutf 
and  mysterious  an  al>sencc  must 
have  eiiused  him.  He  found  him 
seated  at  his  ease,  jdaviny  dice  with 
two  VDunj;  ladies  whose  manners 
were  unreserved  and  eomplexi»>n 
l.iKh. 

Cerard  was  hurt.  "  \  ouhliez 
iKiint  la  Jeaiincton  !  "  said  he,  color- 
ing' III). 

"  What  of  lier  '  "  said  Denys, 
payly  rattling;  the  dice. 

"  She  said,  '  Lc  jh.'U  ijue  sont  les 
femmcs.' " 

"  * ),  ilid  slic  ?  and  what  say  you  to 
that,  mosdomoiselles  >.  " 

"  We  say  that  none  run  women 
down  but  such  as  are  too  old,  or  too 
ill-favored,  or  too  witless,  to  please 
them." 

"  Witless,  quotha.  Wi.se  men  have 
not  folly  enou'jh  to  please  them,  nor 
madness  enoui:h  to  desire  to  piea.sc 
them,"  said  (ierard,  loftily  ;  "  but  't  is 
to  my  conirade  I  speak,  uot  to  you, 


you  brazen  toads,  that  mate  to  ft<M 
with  man  at  tirsc  si^lit." 

"  I'reaih  away,  eoinnide.  Flinp  • 
by-word  or  two  at  our  heads.  Know, 
1,'irls,  that  h«  is  a  viTy  .Solomon  for 
by-words.  Metliiiiks  he  was  brought 
up  bv  hand  on  'em  !  " 

"  be  thv  frieniLship  a  by-wonl  !  " 
retorted  derard.  "  The  friend.>hip 
that  melts  to  naught  at  (>ight  of  « 
farthinirnlc." 

•'  .Malhi'ureux  !  "  crietl  Dcnyn  ;  "  I 
s|H-ak  but  iK-Uetd  and  thou  answcrcflt 
da^'prs." 

"  WouM  I  i-ould !  "  wa-H  the  reply. 
"  Adieu." 

"  What  a  little  sava,'e  !  "  said  one 
of  the  >;irls. 

Cierard  o[>one<l  the  door  ami  put  in 
his  head  :  "  I  have  thou;:ht  of  u  by- 
word," said  he,  spitefully  :  — 

"  '  Qui  h»nl*  MncnM  rt  i\r% 
II  muum  va  |«uvrtrtr».' 

There."  And,  having  deliven-d  this 
thiinderUdt  of  antique  wisdom,  he 
slammed  the  ilcxir  viciously,  ere  any 
of  them  could  retort. 

And  now.  k-iny  somewhat  ex- 
hausted by  his  anxieties,  lie  went  to 
the  bar  for  a  morsel  of  bn-ad  and  a 
cup  of  wine.  The  landlord  would 
sell  nothin<;  less  than  a  pint  lM)ttle. 
"  Well,  then,  ho  would  have  a  lK>ttle  "  ; 
but,  when  lie  came  to  compare  the 
contents  of  the  Uittle  with  its  size, 
irreat  was  the  discrepancy.  On  this 
he  examined  the  l»ottle  keenly,  and 
found  that  the  i;lass  was  thin  where 
the  Utttle  tapi-retl,  but  toward*  the 
lM>ttom  unnaturally  thick.  He  pointed 
tlii'*  out  at  once. 

The  landlord  answcn-d  sniKrcil- 
iously  that  he  did  not  make  iMJttlcs, 
and  Wiis  nowise  accountable  for  their 
shap«". 

"  That  we  will  see  presently,"  said 
Gerard.  "  I  will  Uike  this  thy  pint  to 
the  vice-bailiff." 

"  Nay.  nay,  for  Heaven's  sake," 
cried  the  landlord,  chan;:in<;  his  tone 
at  once.  "  1  love  to  content  my  cus- 
tomers. If  by  chance  this  pint  be 
short,  we  will  charge  it  and  its  fel- 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


159 


tow  three  sous  instead  of  two  sous 
each." 

"  So  be  it.  But  much  I  admire  that 
you,  the  host  of  so  fair  an  inn,  should 
practise  thus.  The  wine,  too,  smack- 
eth  strongly  after  spring  water." 

"  Young  sir,"  said  the  landlord, 
"  we  cut  no  travellers'  throats  at  this 
inn,  as  they  do  at  most.  However, 
you  know  all  about  that.  The 
'  White  Hart '  is  no  lion  nor  bear. 
Whatever  masterful  robbery  is  done 
here  is  done  upon  the  poorest  host. 
How  then  could  he  live  at  all  if  he 
dealt  not  a  little  crooked  with  the  few 
who  pay  ?  " 

Gerard  objected  to  this  system,  root 
and  branch.  Honest  trade,  witli  small 
profits,  quick  returns ;  and  neither  to 
cheat  nor  to  be  cheated. 

The  landlord  sighed  at  this  picture. 
"  So  might  one  keep  an  inn  in  heaven, 
but  not  in  Burgundy.  When  foot- 
soldiers  going  to  the  wars  are  quar- 
tered on  me,  how  can  1  but  lose  by 
their  custom  ?  Two  sous  per  day  is 
tJieir  pay,  and  they  cat  two  sous' 
worth,  and  drink  into  the  bargain. 
The  pardoners  are  my  good  friends, 
but  palmers  and  pilgrims,  what  think 
you  I  gain  by  them  ?  marry,  a  loss. 
Minstrels  and  jongleurs  draw  custom, 
and  so  claim  to  pay  no  score  except 
for  liquor.  By  the  secular  monks  I 
neither  gain  nor  lose,  but  the  black 
and  gray  friars  have  made  vow  of 
poverty,  but  not  of  famine ;  eat  like 
wolves  and  give  the  poor  host  naught 
but  their  prayers,  and  mayhap  not 
them ;  how  can  he  tell  ?  In  my 
father's  day  we  had  the  weddings ; 
but  now  the  great  gentry  let  their 
houses  and  their  plates,  their  mugs 
and  their  spoons,  to  any  honest  couple 
that  want  to  wed,  and  thither  the  very 
mechanics  go  with  their  brides  and 
bridal  train.  The}'  come  not  to  us  : 
indeed,  we  could  not  find  seats  and 
vessels  for  such  a  crowd  as  cat  and 
drink  and  dance  the  week  out  at 
the  homeliest  wedding  now.  In  my 
father's  day  the  great  gentry  sold 
wine  by  the  barrel  only ;  but  now 
they  have  leave  to  cry  it,  and  sell  it 


by  the  galopin,  in  the  very  market 
])lace.  How  can  we  vie  with  them  1 
They  grow  it.  We  buy  it  of  the 
grower.  The  coroner's  'quests  wc 
have  still,  and  these  would  bring 
goodly  profit,  but  the  meat  is  aye 
gone  ere  the  mouths  bo  full." 

"  You  should  make  better  pro- 
vision," suggested  his  hearer. 

"  The  law  will  not  let  us.  Wc  are 
forbidden  to  go  into  the  market  for 
the  first  hour.  So,  when  we  arrive, 
the  burghers  have  bought  all  but  the 
refuse.  Besides,  the  law  forbids  us  to 
buy  more  than  three  bushels  of  meal 
at  a  time  ;  yet  market  day  comes  but 
once  a  week.  As  for  the  butchers, 
they  will  not  kill  for  us  unless  wc 
bribe  them." 

"  Courage  !  "  said  Gerard,  kindly, 
"  the  shoe  pinches  every  trader  some- 
where." 

"Ay,  but  not  as  it  pinches  us. 
Our  shoe  is  trod  all  o'  one  side  as 
well  as  pinches  us  larac.  A  savoir, 
if  we  pay  not  the  merchants  we  buy 
meal,  meat,  and  wine  of,  they  can 
cast  us  into  prison  and  keep  us  there 
till  we  pay  or  die.  But  we  cannot 
cast  into  prison  those  who  buy  those 
very  victuals  of  us.  A  traveller's 
horse  we  may  keep  for  his  debt ;  but 
where  in  Heaven's  name  1  In  our 
own  stable,  eating  his  head  off  at  our 
cost.  Nay,  we  may  keep  the  travel- 
ler himself;  but  where?  In  jail? 
Nay,  in  our  own  good  house,  and 
there  must  we  lodge  and  feed  him 
gratis,  and  so  fling  good  silver  after 
bad  ?  mercy  ;  no  :  let  him  go  with  a 
wanion.  Our  honestest  customers  are 
the  thieves.  Would  to  Heaven  there 
were  more  of  them  !  They  look  not 
too  close  into  the  shape  of  the  cana- 
kin,  nor  into  the  host's  reckoning ; 
with  them  and  with  their  purses  't  is 
lightly  come  and  lightly  go.  Also 
they  spend  freely,  not  knowing  but 
each  carouse  may  be  their  last.  But 
the  thief-takers,  instead  of  profiting 
by  this  fair  example,  are  forever  rob- 
bing the  poor  host.  When  noble  or 
honest  travellers  descend  at  our  door, 
come   the  provost's  men,  pretending 


ICO 


THE  CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


to  8iispoct  till-Ill,  iiinl  iKiiiiindin^  to 
81'arcli  thrill  mill  tlioir  iia|>er.s  ;  to 
siivo  wliicli  ollViici>  the  host  iiuist 
blecil  wiiic  mill  meat.  Then  come 
the  exeise  to  examine  all  voiir 
wei^jhts  and  mca.Hure'*.  You  must 
«toj)  their  iiioutlw  with  meat  ami 
wine.  T<»\vn  exei.>ie  ;  Toval  exri-n- ; 
imrliiiiiuiit  excis*',  —  a  swarm  of  them, 
ami  all  with  a  wolf  in  their  .stomacln 
ami  II  siM)ii;jf  ill  their  ^'ullet--.  Monks, 
friiir^,  pilj;rims,  iialmcrs,  fioliliers,  e.x- 
eisfincn,  iirovost-mirshaU  and  men, 
ami  mere  had  dclitorji,  how  can  the 
•  White  Hurt'  hutt  inrainst  all  the.ie  ? 
Cuttiii;;  no  throats  in  selfdefenee  as 
do  your  '  Swans  '  and  '  Ko.se.s  '  and 
'Hoar'.s  Heads  '  and  '  Red  Lions  '  and 
'  Ka;;lr.s,'  your  Moons,  Stars,  ami 
Moons,  how  ean  the  '  White  Mart ' 
^ive  a  pint  of  wine  for  a  pint  ^  and 
eviT\  tiling  risen  s<».  Why,  lad,  not  u 
|)Ound  of  hread  I  sell  hut  costs  me 
tlirei)  p)od  eoppi-r  dcniers,  twelve 
to  the  sou  ;  and  each  pint  of  wine, 
l>oii;,'lit  hy  the  tun,  costs  me  four 
dcniers  ;  every  sack  of  charcoal  two 
^ous,  and  jjoiie  in  a  day.  A  pair  of 
pirtriil;;es  five  sous.  What  think  vou 
of  that  ?  Heard  one  ever  the  like  ! 
live  sous  for  two  little  beasts  all 
Imjiic  and  feather  f  A  pair  of  pigeons, 
thirty  dcniers.  'T  is  ruination  ! ! ! 
For  we  may  not  raise  our  nrieen  with 
the  market.  O  no  I  I  Ull  thee  the 
shoo  is  trod  all  o'  one  side  as  well  as 
j)inches  the  water  into  our  eyn.  Wc 
may  char^je  naui;lit  for  mustard,  ]yc\y- 
piT,  salt,  or  tircwiiod.  Think  you  we 
p't  them  for  naii;,'lit  ?  Camllo  is  a 
sou  the  ]M)und.  Salt  five  sous  the 
stone,  pej»per  four  sous  the  jKmml, 
mustard  twenty  deniers  the  pint; 
dwiiulleth  it  on  the  spit  with  no 
cost  to  me  hut  loss  of  weight  ?  Why, 
what  think  you  I  pay  my  cook  ?  But 
vou  >li:ill  never  iruess.  A  HUN- 
DKKl)  SO  IS  A  YKAR,  AS  I  AM 
A  LIVIX(;  SINNER. 

"  And  my  waiter  thirty  sons,  be- 
sides his  per(|uisites.  He  is  a  hantle 
richer  than  I  am.  And  then  to  be 
insulted  as  well  as  pilla^^ed.  Last 
Smidav  I  went  to  church.     It  is  a 


place  I  trouble  not  often.  Did  n'l 
the  cure  lash  the  hotel  k-eptTS  I  I 
jrrant  you  he  hit  all  the  tiades,  cxcvpl 
the  one  that  is  a  by-word  for  louiio- 
ness,  and  pride,  and  sloth,  to  wit, 
the  cler;;y.  But,  mind  you,  ho 
stri|>cit  the  other  lav  estates  wiili  n 
feather,  but  us  hotcl-ke»'|HTs  with  n 
neat's  pi/./.le ;  pmIU-s.s  for  tliis,  ami- 
lcs.s  fur  that,  and  most  pxlless  of  all 
for  o[>eniii;;  our  «l<K>rs  durin;;  muss. 
Whv,  the  law  forces  us  to  ojH-n  at 
all  hours  to  travellers  from  another 
town,  stopniii;;,  halting',  or  pa.ssing ; 
those  Ikj  tlie  words.  They  can  fino 
us  licfore  the  bailifT  if  we  refuse 
them,  mass  or  no  nia.ss ;  and,  say  a 
tuwiioinan  .should  creep  in  with  the 
true  travellers,  are  we  to  blume  ? 
They  all  vow  they  arc  tired  way- 
farers ;  and  can  I  ki-n  every  face  in 
a  pi^-at  town  like  this  f  So,  jf  wo 
resjiect  the  law,  our  \nn)r  souls  are 
to  sutler  ;  and,  if  we  resin-ct  it  not, 
our  iMior  lank  purses  must  bK>c<l  at 
two  holes,  tine  liud  loss  of  custom." 
A  man  s|H-akin^  of  himself  in  f^'D- 
eral  is  "  a  babblin;;  bn>ok  "  ;  of  his 
wronjpi,  "  a  shining  river." 

"  Libitur    Pt   lKb«tur    In    omne    volabilit 
luvutu." 

So,  luckily  for  my  readers,  though 
not  for  all  concerned,  this  injured 
orator  was  arrested  in  mid  -  canrr. 
Another  man  burst  in  upon  his 
wn>n;;s  with  all  the  advantajjc  of  a 
nveiit  wron;;  ;  a  wron;j  red-hot.  It 
was  Denys  cursinj;  and  swearin;^,  and 
cry i 111;  that  he  was  robU-d. 

"  Dill  those  hussies  pass  this  way  ? 
who  are  they  ?  where  do  they  bide  ? 
They  have  ta'en  my  purse  and  tiftirn 
golden  piecta  ;  raise  the  hue  uikI  cry  ! 
ah,  traitresses  !  vii)crs  !  These  inns 
are  all  truetajK-ns.' 

"  There  now,"  cried  the  landlord  to 
Gerard. 

Gerard  implored  liim  to  be  calm, 
and  say  how  it  had  U-fallcn. 

"  First  one  went  out  on  some  pre- 
tence ;  then  after  a  while  the  other 
went  to  fetch  her  back  ;  and,  neither 
returning,   I  clapiwd    hand  to  ]>urs« 


THE  CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


161 


and  found  it  empty ;  the  ungrateful 
creatures,  I  M'as  letting  them  win  it 
in  a  gallop  ;  but  loaded  dice  were  not 
quick  enough,  they  must  chaw  it  all 
in  a  lump." 

Gerard  was  for  going  at  once  to 
the  alderman  and  setting  the  officers 
to  find  them. 

"  Not  I,"  said  Denys.  "  I  hate  the 
law.     No  ;  as  it  came  so  let  it  go." 

Gerard  would  not  give  it  up  so. 

At  a  hint  from  the  landlord,  he 
forced  Denys  along  with  him  to  the 
provost  -  marshal.  That  dignitary 
shook  his  head.  "  We  have  no  clew 
to  occasional  thieves  that  work  hon- 
estly at  their  needles  till  some  gull 
comes  and  tempts  them  with  an  easy 
booty,  and  then  they  pluck  him." 

"  Come  away,"  cried  Denys,  furious- 
ly. "  I  knew  what  use  a  bourgeois 
would  be  to  me  at  a  pinch  "  ;  and  he 
marched  off  in  a  rage.  "  They  are 
clear  of  the  town  ere  this,"  said  Ge- 
rard. "  Speak  no  more  on  't  if  you 
prize  my  friendship.  I  have  five 
pieces  with  the  bailiff,  and  ten  I  left 
■s\-ith  Marion,  luckily,  or  these  trai- 
tresses had  feathered  their  nest  with  my 
last  plume.  What  dost  gape  for  so  t 
Nay,  I  do  ill  to  vent  my  choler  on 
thee ;  I  '11  tell  tliee  all.  Art  Aviser 
than  I  ?  "  "  What  saidst  thou  at  the 
door  1  "  "  No  matter.  Well,  then,  I 
did  offer  marriage  to  that  Marion." 

Gerard  was  dumfoundered. 

"  What  1  you  offered  her  what  ?  " 

"  Marriage.  Is  that  such  a  mighty 
strange  thing  to  offer  a  wench  ?  " 

"  'T  is  a  strange  thin^  to  offer  to  a 
strange  girl  in  passing. 

"  Nay,  I  am  not  such  a  sot  as  you 
opine.  I  saw  the  corn  in  all  that 
cliaff.  I  knew  I  could  not  get  her  by 
fair  means,  so  I  was  fain  to  try  foul. 
'  Mademoiselle,'  said  I,  '  marriage  is 
not  one  of  my  habits,  but,  struck  by 
your  qualities,  I  make  an  exception  ; 
deign  to  bestow  this  hand  on  me.' " 

"  And  she  bestowed  it  on  thine 
ear." 

"  Not  so.  On  the  contrary  she  — 
Art  a  disrespectful  young  monkey. 
Know  that  here,  not  being  Holland  or 


any  other  barbarous  state,  courtesy 
begets  courtesy.  Says  she,  a  coloring 
like  a  rose, '  Soldier,  you  are  too  late. 
He  is  not  a  patch  on  you  for  looks, 
but  then  —  he  has  loved  me  a  long 
time.' 

" '  He  7  who  ? ' 

"  '  T'other.' 

"  '  What  other  ?  ' 

"  '  Why,  he  that  was  not  too  late.' 
0,  that  is  the  way  they  all  speak  the 
loves  ;  the  she-wolves.  Their  little 
minds  go  in  leaps.  Think  you  they 
marshal  their  words  in  order  of  bat- 
tle ?  their  tongues  are  in  too  great  a 
hurry.  Says  she,  '  I  love  him  not ; 
not  to  say  love  him  ;  but  he  does  me, 
and  dearly  ;  and  for  that  reason  I  'd 
sooner  die  than  cause  him  grief,  I 
would.' " 

"  Now  I  believe  she  did  love  him." 

"  Who  doubts  that  ?  Why,  she 
said  so,  roundabout,  as  they  always 
say  these  things,  and  with  '  nay '  for 
'ay.'  'I  hope  you  will  be  happy  to- 
gether,' said  I. 

"  Well,  one  thing  led  to  another, 
and  at  last,  as  she  could  not  give  me 
her  hand,  she  gave  me  a  piece  of  ad- 
vice, and  that  was  to  leave  part  of  my 
money  witli  the  young  mistress.  Then, 
when  bad  company  had  cleaned  me 
out,  I  should  have  some  to  travel  back 
with,  said  she.  I  said  I  would  better 
her  advice,  and  leave  it  with  her.  Her 
face  got  red.  Says  she,  '  Think  what 
you  do.  Chambermaids  have  an  ill 
name  for  honesty.'  '  O,  the  Devil  is 
not  so  black  as  he  is  painted,'  said  I. 
'  I  '11  risk  it ' ;  and  I  left  fifteen  gold 
pieces  ■with  her." 

Gerard  sighed.  "  I  wish  you  may 
ever  see  them  again.  It  is  wondrous 
in  what  esteem  you  do  hold  this  sex, 
to  trust  so  to  the  first  comer.  For  my 
part  I  know  little  about  them ;  1 
never  saw  but  one  I  could  love  as  well 
as  I  love  thee.  But  the  ancients  must 
surely  know ;  and  they  held  women 
cheap.  "  Levins  quid  fcemina,"  said 
they,  which  is  but  la  Jeanneton's 
tune  in  Latin,  "Le  pen  que  sont  les 
femmes."  Also  do  but  see  how  the 
graybeards  of  our  ovra  day  speak  of 


162 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


them,  hcinj;  no  longer  bliiidetl  by  do- 
Bin-;   this  ahhTnmn,  to  wit." 

"  ( )  iiDvico  of  iiovicrs,"  crifd  Dcnys, 
"  not  to  have  sii'ii  why  that  ohl  fool 
niilH  so  on  the  |>oor  thiii;,'s  !  One 
ihiv.  out  of  tlie  millions  of  women  he 
liiaekcns.  one  did  prefer  some  other 
iiiiin  to  him  ;  for  whieh  solitary  piei-e 
of  had  taste,  and  ten  to  one  't  wua 
irooil  tivstc,  lie  doth  iKSputter  enu- 
tioTi's  fainr  half,  therehy  proving' 
what  '   le   jKii  que  sont  lis  hommes." 

"  I  si'o  won>en  have  a  shrewd  ehani- 
pion  in  thi-e,"  saiti  (ierard,  with  a 
smile  ;  hut  the  next  monu-nt  inijuired 
j:ra%cly  why  he  had  not  told  him  all 
this  iK-fon-. 

Dfiiys  j,'rinne<l.  "  Had  the  jfirl 
said  '  ay,'  why,  thi-n  I  had  told  thee 
straight.  Hut  't  is  ii  rule  with  ns 
Holdiers  never  to  puhlish  our  defeats  ; 
t  is  niueh  if  after  uieh  eheek  wc  claim 
not  a  victory. " 

"  Now  that  is  true,"  saiil  fJeranl, 
"  Yoiiii;;  as  I  am,  I  hafe  .stvn  this  ; 
that,  after  every  ^nat  hattle,  the  ^;en- 
crals  on  hoth  sidi's  >jo  to  the  nearest 
chureli,  and  siii^  eai-h  a  'l"e  Deuni  for 
the  victory  ;  methiuks  a  Te  Martem, 
or  Te  Helionam,  or  Te  Meniiriuiii, 
Mercury  U-inj;  tho  p)d  of  lies,  were 
mi>rc  littiiii;." 

"  I'a-s  si  liOte,"  .saiil  Dcnys,  npprov- 
in;;lv.  "  n:L>t  a  i;ooil  eye  :  <-ttn>t  sec 
a  steeple  hy  daylight.  So  now  tell 
me  how  thuu  hast  fared  in  this  town 
all  day  " 

"  Come,"  said  (Jcrard,  "  't  is  well 
thou  hn.st  asked  me  :  for  else  I  had 
never  toM  thee  "  He  then  related  in 
full  how  he  had  hccii  arrested,  ami  hy 
w!iat  a  providential  circumstance  he 
had  e.-ica[)cd  lonp  imprisonment  or 
s])cedy  conrtaj^ration. 

His  narrative  produced  an  effect  he 
little  expected  or  desired.  "  I  am  a 
tniitor,"  cricil  Dcnys.  "  I  left  thee 
in  a  stran;;e  j)laee  to  ti;rlit  thine  own 
battles,  wliile  1  shook  the  dice  with 
those  jades.  Now  take  thou  this 
sword  and  pass  it  through  my  body 
forthwith." 

"  What  for,  in  Heaven's  name  1  " 
inquired  Gerard. 


"  For  an  example,"  ronre<l  Dcnjt 
"  For  a  warning'  to  all  false  loons  thai 
profess  friendship  and  di>;;racc  it." 

"(),  very  well,"  said  (Jerard. 
"  Yes.  Not  a  had  notion.  WIm.to 
will  vou  have  it  ?  " 

"  llere,  throu(;h  my  lieort  ;  that  in, 
where  other  nun  have  a  heart,  hut  1 
none,  or  h  Satanic  false  one." 

(ierard  made  a  motion  to  run  him 
through,  and  tluii^'  his  arms  round 
his  nirk  instead.  "  1  know  no  way 
to  thy  heart  but  thi.s,  thou  great  sillj 
tiling'." 

I^enys  uttered  an  exclamation, 
then  hiippd  him  waniily,  —  and, 
(|uite  overi-oiiie  by  this  sudden  turn  of 
youthful  atVectiuii  and  native  ^raw, 
^julped  out  ill  a  broken  voice  :  "  Uaile.st 
on  women  —  and  art  —  like  them  — 
with  thy  pretty  ways.  Thy  mother's 
milk  is'  in  thee  still.  Satan  would 
love  theo,  or — le  l)on  Dieu  would 
kick  him  out  of  hell  for  .shaming  it. 
(live  me  thv  hand  !  (live  me  thv 
hand!  .May  "  (a  trtmendous  oath)  "  If 
I  let  thee  out  of  my  sipht  till  Italy." 

And  so  the  stanch  friends  wettJ 
more  than  rcconcilctl  after  their  short 
titr. 

The  next  day  the  thieves  were  tried. 
The  pieces  de  conviction  were  reduced 
in  number,  tf>  the  jrreat  cha;,'riii  of  tho 
little  cli'rk,  by  the  intennent  of  tho 
Ixines.  Hut  there  was  still  a  pretty 
show.  A  thiefs  hand  stnick  otV  11a- 
jrrante  delicto;  a  munlered  woman's 
hair  ;  the  AblK)t's  axe,  and  other  tools 
of  crime.  The  skulls,  &c.  were  sworn 
to  by  the  constables  who  liad  found 
them.  Kvidence  was  lax  in  that  aj^ 
and  j)lace.  They  all  confessed  but 
the  landlord  ;  an<i  Manon  was  called 
to  brinp  the  crime  home  to  him.  Her 
evidence  was  conclusive.  He  inndc  a 
I  vain  attempt  to  shake  her  credibility 
by  drawing:  from  her  that  her  own 
sweetheart  had  been  one  of  the  panp, 
and  that  she  had  held  her  tonpue  so 
lonp  as  he  was  alive.  The  public 
prosecutor  came  to  the  aid  of  his  wit- 
ness, and  elicited  that  a  knife  had 
been  held  to  her  throat,  and  her  own 
sweetheart  sworn  with  solemn  oath* 


THE  CLOISTER  AND   THE  HEARTH. 


163 


to  kill  her,  should  she  betray  them,  and 
that  this  terrible  threat,  and  not  the 
mere  fear  of  death,  had  glued  her  lips. 

The  other  thieves  were  condemned 
to  be  hanged,  and  the  landlord  to 
be  broken  on  the  wheel.  He  uttered 
a  piercing  cry  when  his  sentence  was 
pronounced. 

As  for  poor  Manon,  she  became 
the  subject  of  universal  criticism. 
Nor  did  opinion  any  longer  run  dead 
in  her  favor ;  it  divided  into  two 
broad  currents.  And,  strange  to  re- 
late, the  majority  of  her  own  sex  took 
her  part,  and  the  males  were  but 
equally  divided ;    which  hardly  hap- 

f)ens  once  in  a  hundred  years.  Per- 
laps  some  lady  will  explain  the  phe- 
nomenon. As  for  me,  I  am  a  lit- 
tle shy  of  explaining  things  I  don't 
understand ;  it  has  become  so  com- 
mon. Meantime,  had  she  been  a 
lover  of  notoriety,  she  would  have 
been  happy,  for  the  town  talked  of 
nothing  but  her.  The  poor  girl,  how- 
ever, had  but  one  wish  ;  to  escape  the 
crowd  that  followed  her,  and  hide  her 
head  somewhere  where  she  could  cry 
over  her  "pcndard,"  whom  all  these 
proceedings  brought  vividly  back  to 
her  affectionate  remembrance.  Before 
he  was  hanged  he  had  threatened  her 
life ;  but  she  was  not  one  of  your 
fastidious  girls,  who  love  their  male 
divinities  any  the  less  for  beating 
them,  kicking  them,  or  killing  them, 
but  rather  the  better,  provided  these 
attentions  are  interspersed  with  oc- 
casional caresses ;  so  it  would  have 
been  odd  indeed  had  she  taken  offence 
at  a  mere  threat  of  that  sort.  He 
had  never  threatened  her  with  a  rival. 
She  sobbed  single-mindedly. 

Meantime  the  inn  was  filled  with 
thirsters  for  a  sight  of  her,  who  feasted 
and  drank,  to  pass  away  the  time  till 
she  should  deign  to  appear.  When 
she  had  been  sobbing  some  time,  there 
was  a  tap  at  her  door,  and  the  land- 
lord entered  with  a  proposal.  "  Nay, 
weep  not,  good  lass,  your  fortune  it  is 
made,  an  you  like.  Say  the  word, 
and  you  are  chambermaid  of  the 
•  White  Hart.'  " 


"  Nay,  nay,"  said  Manon,  with  a 
fresh  burst  of  grief.  "  Nevermore 
will  I  be  a  servant  in  an  inn.  I  '11  go 
to  my  mother." 

The  landlord  consoled  and  coaxed 
her ;  and  she  became  calmer,  but  none 
the  less  determined  against  his  pro- 
posal. 

The  landlord  left  her.  But  erelong 
he  returned  and  made  her  another 
proposal.  Would  she  be  his  wife, 
and  landlady  of  the  "  White  Hart "  1 

"  You  do  ill  to  mock  me,"  said  she, 
sorrowfully. 

"Nay,  sweetheart.  I  mock  thee 
not.  1  am  too  old  for  sorry  jests. 
Say  you  the  word,  and  you  are  my 
partner  for  better  for  worse." 

She  looked  at  him,  and  saw  he  was 
in  earnest.  On  this  she  suddenly 
rained  hard  to  the  memory  of  "  le 
pendard  " ;  the  tears  came  in  a  tor- 
rent, being  the  last ;  and  she  gave  her 
hand  to  the  landlord  of  the  "  White 
Hart,"  and  broke  a  gold  crown  with 
him  in  sign  of  plighted  troth. 

"  We  will  keep  it  dark  till  the 
house  is  quiet,"  said  the  landlord. 

"  Ay,"  said  she ;  "  but  meantime 
prithee  give  me  linen  to  hem,  or  work 
to  do  ;  for  the  time  liangs  on  me  like 
lead." 

Her  betrothed's  eye  brightened  at 
this  housewifely  request,  and  he 
brought  her  up  two  dozen  flagons  of 
various  sizes  to  clean  and  polish. 

She  gathered  complacency  as  she 
reflected  that  by  a  strange  turn  of  for- 
tune all  this  bright  pewter  was  to  be 
hers. 

And  this  mighty  furbishing  up  of 
pewter  reminds  me  that  justice  re- 
quires me  to  do  a  stroke  of  the  same 
work. 

Well,  then,  the  deposition,  read  out 
in  the  alderman's  room  as  Manon's, 
was  not  so  exact  as  such  things  ought 
to  be.  The  alderman  had  condensed 
her  e^'idence.  Now  there  are  in  every 
great  nation  about  three  persons  ca- 
pable of  condensing  evidence  without 
falsifying  it ;  but  this  alderman  was 
not  one  of  that  small  band.  In  the 
first  part  of  the  deposition  he  left  out 


IGl 


TIIK    Cl.olsrKK    AM)    IHK   HF.ARXn. 


:Li    illiir  's    "  My 

•n    r!.  It  of   hi* 

u.i,    1 4." 

(j.twi-«ii  thf  w<irU.i  "jealous  of  mo  " 
and  "  the  n-a.'«oit,"  Munuii  hail  fiaul, 
"  Mv  iua."itiT  wa'»  aye  ml  my  fufU  ;  m> 
I  ii>li|  mv  miitriMji,  and  nuiil  I  winiM 


tnut.    II 

wiirJi 

hotl   «ttt«l   ll»i'   rtii.'H.ii   liu'v  >,'avf  .i/i*r- 


rh'-n  I    wiM   no  lon;^T 

III."     Anil  M> 

I  (ion. 

i    ;,.      .  ,-.ii<nt  !»u(Ti-nil, 

otic    i|iMV4   nowailrt_\4    in 

■  r  .iinl  other  ri'|«»rt.t.  by 

■  n  of  the  <|ii«':«tion. 

'  what  lU-tutUly  ww 


wtnh,  i 
thiTe  t.  . 
un  nil  I 

in   iiiitiiy    a 

till-      l.<«»IMI 

the  U\r 
For  iii^t  . 
.Haiil    — 

Vhe  AUUrmaH.  "  Come,  now, 
nhoiiM  vou  have  intrrfrretl  if  thi*  nol- 
ili.r  \\\\  hiiJ  no  Ui\r>l  '  " 

.l/'i'on.  "  How  cull  I  tell  what  I 
$Ko»lil  han*  done  *  " 

Now  this  wtt.i  merrly  ■  icn^ihlc 
antwiT  to  a  njon^tnuK  i|m»:<tion  ni> 
miu'i-trnte  hiul  a  riirlit  to  put.  Hut, 
under  the  conilensiii^  |'  i    i      i 

her   «;»iMli"«l   with   a    >■ 
ment   of   a    very    dam.i^     „ 
tor. 

Kinollv  !«hc  hod  ftaid.  "  I  am  aor- 
rr  1  tuld,  if  I  am  to  be  honpxl  fur 
it." 

Thit  '      '  ' '      i-ondonictl  ut  floprm,  ] 
|i.  14!*,  :  a.*  far  oa  p»>*»ihlo 

0\<-  tuti.  :...  > i:r.* 

WhiLnt  Maooo  and  I  were  cleanin}^, 

•  SinrUIr  WM  a  rinif^  ;  ami  mmpUlnr^t 
tii  the  raan»irT  th»t  In  lh«  o|>craHc  plajr  of 
i;»b  Koy  h«  \\tui  a  muUituJo  of  mere  worU 
t.)  uttiT  lietwwn  the  aoog*.  "  Cut,  my  boy, 
cut  I  "  sail!  the  manaffvr  On  this,  rox  et  p. 
n.  cut  Scott,  and  diMibtlcn  many  ot  hU  cuu 
woulil  not  have  di*oro>litc«l  the  ondenaen  of 
fTi.lcnc«.  But  niily  ouc  nf  hii  ma«ter-itroke« 
hxi  rvachetl  posterity.  Ills  n>-'l'xliaus  oriraiu 
had  t»«n  taxed  with  thi»  senteno^  ■  "  Raah- 
leiicb  U  my  coasin  ;  but,  for  what  reaaoa  I 
C4nn'H  dirlne,  he  is  my  bitt<Tv»t  enemy."' 
Tbi«  he  ron«len»eU  and  delivcrx'-l  Iho* :  — 
■■  U;\«hlei«h  is  my  cousin,  but  for  what  reasoo 
I  cannot  dirlne." 


■■'     '  ii>i;,  I  niy  i  »t<»r, 

1     W.iit    il.  :id, 

I ...    .  .ih  our  trii;.  .  .   .;icin 

aside  into  the  liiir. 

He  then  oddresHwl  Denvn  with  coo- 
sideruhle  lolemnity.  "  VVe  arr  old 
a(i)uiiintan(i'?«,  an<l  vou  want  not  for 

riil. 

..  .    ...    . —    .  ....  ...An  ; 

the  inn  14  ti>  tii;;ht.     She 

to  be  mv  ehamlaTTiiaid. 

1    Ita^i     half   a  min<(  to  marry  Iter. 

Wluit   think   yuu  f    slioJl    I    aay    (h« 

W<Jpl  '  " 

Deny*  in  nrply  mervly  o|i€ned  hia 
eyi"!*  «!■'••  "■'>•    --(Dnithmenl. 

Th"  .rnitl  tu  (ieranl  with 

n  halt       .  ixik. 

"  Nay.  »»r,'  itoid  (Jcrnnl.  "  I  am 
too  yount;  to  advise  my  srnion  and 
betters." 

"  No  matter.  I<it  us  hear  your 
thonyht." 

"  Well,  sir,  it  was  said  of  a  Rood 
wid-  by  the  aneienCa,  '  U-ne  <|UA<  latuil, 
larnc  vi.\it,'  that  i*.  she  ts  the  benl 
wife  that  is  least  talke<l  of,  but  bera 
'  male  i|u<i9  pntuit '  were  aa  near  the 
mark.  Th«-refun*.  an  you  la-ar  tho 
'  '  !l,  why  not  elub  purse* 
nml  ni<',  ami  ronvey  her 
ithadowrj'  'I'lun  may- 
hap some  rustieal  ta-rson  in  her  own 
plaif  may  la;  bniUKnt  ti»  wive  her." 

"  Why  so  many  wonls  •  "  aaid 
I)enra.  "  This  old  fox  is  not  the  aaa 
J.       •     '    •  .  Iw." 

H  your  advier,  — is  it  '  " 

s.; llonl.  t«stily.  "  Well,  then 

we  sh.-\U  soon  know  who  is  the  fool, 
vou  or  me,  for  I  have  s|M>ken  to  her,  aa 
It  hnp|a-ns  ;  and,  whot  is  more,  she  baa 
said  ay,  and  she  us  polishing;  the  AtLg- 
ons  at  this  mf>ment." 

"  Oho  !  "  .snid  I)eny,<.  dryly,  "  't  waa 
nn  onibu-M-ado.  Well,  in  that  caae, 
my  advice  is,  run  for  the  notary,  tic 
the  n<K)«;,  and  let  n.s  thn>o  tirink  the 
bride's  health  till  we  sec  »ix  aota  a 
tipplinp." 

•'  And  shall.  Ay.  now  you  utter 
sense." 

In  ten  minutes  a  civil  roarriag«  waa 


THE   CLOISTER  AND  THE   HEARTH. 


165 


effected  up  stairs  before  a  notary  and 
his  clerk  and  our  two  friends. 

In  ten  minutes  more  the  white  hind, 
dead  sick  of  sechision,  had  taken  her 
place  witliin  the  bar,  and  was  senang 
out  liquids,  and  bustling,  and  her  col- 
or rising  a  little. 

In  six  minutes  more  she  soundly 
rated  a  careless  senant-girl  for  carry- 
ing a  nipperkin  of  wine  awry  and 
spilling  good  liquor. 

During  the  evening  she  received 
across  the  bar  eight  offers  of  mar- 
riage, some  of  them  from  respectable 
burghers.  Now  the  landlord  and  our 
two  friends  had  in  perfect  innocence 
ensconced  themselves  behind  a  screen, 
to  drink  at  their  ease  the  new  couple's 
health.  The  above  comedy  was  thrown 
in  for  their  entertainment  by  boun- 
teous fate.  They  heard  the  proposals 
made  one  after  another,  and  uninven- 
tive  Manon's  invariable  answer  :  "  Ser- 
vitcur  ;  you  ai-e  a  day  after  the  fair." 
The  landlord  chuckled  and  looked 
good-natured  superiority  at  both  his 
late  advisers,  with  their  traditional 
notions  that  men  shun  a  woman 
"  quse  patuit,"  i.  e.  who  has  become 
the  town  talk. 

But  Dcnys  scarce  noticed  the 
spouse's  triumph  over  him,  he  was  so 
occupied  with  his  owni  over  Gerard. 
At  each  municipal  tender  of  undying 
affection,  he  turned  almost  purple 
with  the  effort  it  cost  him  not  to  roar 
with  glee ;  and,  driving  his  elbow  in- 
to the  deep-meditating  and  much-puz- 
zled pupil  of  antiquity,  whispered, 
"  Le  pen  que  sont  les  hommes." 

The  next  morning  Gerard  was 
eager  to  start,  but  Denys  was  under  a 
vow  to  see  the  murderers  of  the  golden- 
haired  girl  executed. 

Gerard  respected  his  vow,  but 
avoided  his  example. 

He  went  to  bid  the  cure  farewell  in- 
stead, and  sought  and  received  his 
blessing.  About  noon  the  travellers 
got  clear  of  the  town.  Just  outside 
the  south  gate  they  passed  the  gal- 
lows ;  it  had  eight  tenants,  the  skele- 
ton of  Manon's  late  wept  and  now 
being  fadt  forgotten  lover,  and  the 


bodies  of  those  who  had  so  nearly 
taken  our  travellers'  lives.  A  hand 
was  nailed  to  the  beam.  And  hard 
by,  on  a  huge  wheel,  was  clawed  the 
dead  landlord,  wth  every  bone  in  his 
body  broken  to  pieces. 

Gerard  averted  his  head  and  hur- 
ried by.  Denys  lingered,  and  crowed 
over  liis  dead  foes.  "  Times  are 
changed,  my  lads,  since  we  two  sat 
shaking  in  the  cold  awaiting  you 
seven  to  come  and  cut  our  throats." 

"  Fie,  Denys !  Death  squares  all 
reckonings.  Prithee  pass  on  without 
another  word,  if  you  prize  my  respect 
a  groat." 

To  this  earnest  remonstrance  De- 
nys yielded.  He  even  said,  thought- 
fully, "  You  have  been  better  brought 
up  than  I." 

About  three  in  the  afternoon  they 
reached  a  little  town  with  the  people 
buzzing  in  knots.  The  wolves, 
starved  by  the  cold,  had  entered,  and 
eaten  two  grown-up  persons  over- 
night in  the  main  street ;  so  some 
were  blaming  the  eaten  ;  "  none  but 
fools  or  knaves  are  about  after  night- 
fall "  ;  others  the  law  for  not  protect- 
ing the  town,  and  others  the  corpo- 
ration for  not  enforcing  what  laws 
there  were. 

"  Bah  !  this  is  nothing  to  us,"  said 
Denys,  and  was  for  resuming  their 
march. 

"  Ay,  but  't  is,"  remonstrated  Ge- 
rard. 

"  Wliat,  are  we  the  pair  they 
ate  ?  " 

"  No,  but  we  may  be  the  next 
pair." 

"  Ay,  neighbor,"  said  an  ancient 
man,  "  't  is  the  town's  fiiult  for  not 
obeying  the  ducal  ordinance,  which 
bids  every  shopkeeper  light  a  lamp 
o'er  his  door  at  sunset,  and  burn  it 
till  sunrise." 

On  this  Denys  asked  him,  some- 
what derisively,  "  what  made  him 
fancy  rush  dips  would  scare  away 
empty  wolves  '?  Why,  mutton-fat  is 
all  their  joy." 

"  'T  is  not  the  fat,  vain  ninn,  but 
the  light.     All  ill  tilings  hate  light ; 


166 


THK   CLOISTER   AND  TUE  HEARTH. 


especially  wolvrs  and  tho  imp*  that 
lurk,  I  wii'ti,  ihiiUt  their  fur.  Kx- 
luuplc  :  I'arit  rity  stanil.H  in  u  wo<j<l 
like,  iimi  the  wulves  do  howl  around 
it  all  ni;,'ht  ;  yet  of  Uu*  ycant  wolvw 
come  hut  little  in  the  .itnt't.*.  For 
why  '  in  that  hur;;h  the  watchmen  do 
thunder  at  eaeli  door  that  i»  dark, 
and  make  th«'  weiry  wi;;ht  ri.-n-  ond 
li;;lit.  'T  is  my  .son  telN  nje.  He  n 
a,  t'n-al  voyager,  my  son  Nicholas." 

In  further  explanation  he  assurwl 
them  thot,  previously  to  that  onli- 
niuu-e,  no  city  hail  l»efn  worse  infe?n- 
ed  with  wolvei  tliiin  I'aris  ;  a  troop 
h.id  iMiidly  assaultid  the  town  in 
I42i>,  and  in  141"*  th-y  had  eaten 
fourteen  |HTsoni  in  a  single  month 
between  .Monlmartre  and  the  ^'ate  St. 
Antoine,  ami  that  not  a  winter  month 
even,  hut  SeptemlK-r  ;  ami  as  for  the 
d.-atl  which  ni:.'htly  lay  in  i' 
lain  in  midni;.'ht  hrawls,  . 
Uilte<l.  the  wolvel  hud  Used  :  . 
thi'in,  and  to  irruh  up  th"  fresli  uravi-a 
in  the  churchyard i  and  tear  out  the 
bodies. 

Here  ft  thouirhtful  citizen  iiU(;i;oiit- 
ed  that  probably  the  wolves  had  U-en 
liridNd  of  late  in  I'.iris,  not  by 
candle  li/ht.s,  but  owiii;;  to  the  Kn;;- 
lish  having;  lieen  driven  out  of  the 
kini;dom  of  France.  "  For  those 
F.nt'lish  bo  very  wolven  tlicm.solvcs 
for  fien-i'nes^s  and  i:T\-c<liness.  What 
inarrel,  then,  that  nndcr  tlM-ir  nilc  our 
iiei;;hl»ors  of  France  should  \»'  wolf- 
catcu  '  "  This  lo;:ic  wils  too  suitcil 
to  the  time  and  place  not  to  !»•  rr- 
ci'ivcd  with  ai-elamalion.  But  the 
oltl  man  st<MMl  his  ground.  "  I  p-ant 
ye  those  islamlers  are  wolves  ;  but 
two-le'.:i;ed  ones,  and  little  apt  to 
favor  their  four-fixitnl  cou.-ins.  One 
jrreedy  thin::,  lovcth  it  another  '  I 
trow  not.  Hy  the  .same  token,  an<l 
this  too  I  have  from  my  l»oy,  Nicole, 
Sir  Wolf  dare  not  show  his  nose  in 
lA>ndon  city,  though  't  is  smaller 
than  Paris,  and  thick  w<Hids  hard  by 
the  north  wall,  ami  therein  prcat 
store  of  deer  and  wild  txjars  rife  as 
tiles  at  midsummer." 

"  Sir,"   said    Gerard.    "  you    seem 


conversant  with  wild  hcaj<ts,  prithee 
adviv  my  coinrnde  here  and  iiir  ;  wo 
Would  not  wa-ste  time  on  the  rooii,  on* 
if  we  may  (^o  forwanl  to  the  amst 
town  with  reasonable  safety." 

"  Young  man,  I  know  't  were  an 
idle  risk.  It  lacks  but  an  hour  of 
dusk,  and  you  must  pa.ss  ni;:li  a  woo«I 
where  lurk  .s<ime  thou.sands  of  thov 
halfstarve«l  vennin,  rank  cowanls 
sin);le,  but  in  gn-at  bands  t>old  as 
lions.  Wherefore  I  r»'<lc  jou  sojourn 
here  the  ni;rht,  and  journey  on  b^ 
times.  Hy  the  duwu  the  vermin  will 
lie  linnl  out  with  roaring  and  mm- 
pa;;inK'  :  and  mayhap  will  have  tilUtl 
their  lank  bellies  with  tle>h  of  my 
pxMl  neiKhbura  here,  ttie  untcachable 
fmds  !  " 

Civnird  ho|>cil  not  ;  and  asked 
could  he  recommend  them  to  a  guo«) 
inn  ' 

"  Humph  ^  there  is  the  '  Tete 
d'Or.'  Mv  .•r,.,,i,l.u..;hter  kn-p*  it. 
She  is  a  in  '  not  so  knavish 

as  mmt  h":  -.  ami  her  houM 

indiirerrnt  t  lean.'' 

"  Hey  for  the  '  TCicd'Or,'"  Ktmck 
in  Denvs,  decide<l  br  his  iiieriulicable 
foible.  ' 

On  the  way  to  it,  fJerard  inquired 
of  his  companion  what  "  a  inijauri^o  " 
was. 

Denvs  laughed  nt  his  ijnioroncc. 
"  Not  fcnow  what  a  mijaun-e  is  !  why, 
nil  the  world  knows  that.  It  is 
neither  more  nor  less  than  a  mijau- 
nie." 
I  As  they  enten-*!  the  "  Tete  d'Or" 
thev  met  a  voun;;  lady  richly  drps,scd, 
wit)i  the  velvet  cha|»cron  on  her  head 
which  was  confinol  by  law  to  the  no- 
bility. Thev  nnlionnetetl  ami  luiitcd 
low,  and  she  courtesii>d,  but  fixi-*! 
her  eye  on  vacancv  the  while,  which 
had  a  curious,  rat)ier  than  a  (rcnial 
effect.  However,  nobility  was  not  so 
unassumini;  in  tho.se  days  ns  it  is 
now ;  .10  they  were  little  ,«nry>rised. 
But  the  next  minute  supper  was 
!  serve<l,  and  lo !  in  came  this  prin- 
cess and  can-i-tl  the  f^xise. 

"  Holy  St.  B:ivon  I  "  crietl  Gerard. 
"  'T  was  the  landlady  all  the  while.* 


THE   CLOISTER  AND  THE   HEARTH. 


167 


A  young  woman,  cursed  with  nice 
white"  teeth  and  lovely  hands ;  for 
these  beauties,  being  misallied  to 
homely  features,  had  turned  her  head. 
She  was  a  feeble  carver,  can'ing  not 
for  the  sake  of  others  but  herself, 
i.  e.  to  display  her  hands.  When 
not  carving,  she  was  eternally  either 
taking  a  pin  out  of  her  head  or  her 
body,  or  else  putting  a  pin  into  her 
head  or  her  body.  To  display  her 
teeth,  she  laughed  indifferently  at 
gay  or  grave,  and  from  ear  to  ear. 
And  she  "  sat  at  ease "  with  her 
mouth  ajar. 

Now,  there  is  an  animal  in  crea- 
tion of  no  great  general  merit ;  but 
it  has  the  eye  of  a  hawk  for  affec- 
tation. It  is  called  "  a  boy."  And 
Gerard  was  but  a  boy  still  in  some 
things,  swift  to  sec  and  to  loathe  affec- 
tation. So  Denys  sat  casting  sheep's 
eyes,  and  Gerard  daggers,  at  one  co- 
median. 

Presently,  in  the  midst  of  her 
rainauderies,  she  gave  a  loud  shriek 
and  bounded  out  of  her  chair  like 
hare  from  form,  and  ran  backwards 
out  of  the  room,  uttering  little  screams 
and  holding  her  fardingale  tight 
down  to  her  ankles  with  both  hands. 
And,  as  she  scuttled  out  at  the  door, 
a  mouse  scuttled  back  to  the  wainscot 
in  a  state  of  equal,  and  perhaps  more 
reasonable  terror.  The  guests,  who 
had  risen  in  anxiety  at  the  princi- 
pal yell,  now  stood  irresolute  awhile, 
then  sat  down  laughing.  The  tender 
Denys,  to  whom  a  woman's  coward- 
ice, being  a  sexual  trait,  seemed  a 
lovely  and  pleasant  thing,  said  he 
would  go  comfort  her  and  bring  her 
back. 

"  Nay,  nay,  nay !  for  pity's  sake 
let  her  bide  !  "  cried  Gerard,  earnestly. 
"  O  blessed  mouse  !  sure  some  saint 
sent  thee  to  our  aid." 

Now  at  his  right  hand  sat  a  sturdy 
middle-aged  burgher,  whose  conduct 
up  to  date  had  been  cynical.  He  had 
never  budged,  nor  even  rested  his 
knife,  at  all  this  fracas.  He  now 
turned  on  Gerard,  and  inquired 
'.laughtily  whether  he  really  thought 
8 


that   "grimaciere"  was   afraid  of  a 
mouse. 

"  Ay.  She  screamed  hearty." 
"  Where  is  the  coquette  that  cannot 
scream  to  the  life  1  These  she-tav- 
ern-keepers do  still  ape  the  nobles. 
Some  princess  or  duchess  had  lain 
here  a  night,  that  was  honestly  afeard 
of  a  mouse,  having  been  brought  up 
to  it.  And  this  ape  hath  seen  her, 
and  said,  "  I  will  start  at  a  mouse,  and 
make  a  coil."  She  has  no  more  right 
to  start  at  a  mouse  than  to  wear  that 
fur  on  her  bosom,  and  that  velvet  on 
her  monkey's  head.  I  am  of  the 
town,  young  man,  and  have  kno^vn 
the  mijaurcc  all  her  life,  and  I  mind 
when  she  was  no  more  afeard  of  a 
mouse  than  she  is  of  a  man."  He 
added  that  she  was  fast  emptying  the 
inn  u-ith  these  "  singcries."  "  All 
the  world  is  so  sick  of  her  h.-nids,  that 
her  very  kinsfolk  will  not  venture 
themselves  anigh  them."  He  con- 
cluded ^vith  something  like  a  sigh, 
"  The  '  Tete  d'Or  "  was  a  thriv-ing 
hostelry  under  my  old  chum  htrgood 
father ;  but  she  is  digging  its  grave 
tooth  and  nail."  "  Tooth  and  nail  ? 
good  !  a  right  merry  conceit  and  a 
true,"  said  Gerard.  But  the  right 
meny  conceit  was  an  inadvertence  as 
pure  as  snow,  and  the  stout  burgher 
went  to  his  grave  and  never,  never 
knew  what  he  had  done  ;  for  just  then 
attention  was  attracted  by  Denys  re- 
turning pompously.  He  inspected 
the  apartment  minutely,  and  with  a 
high  official  air ;  he  also  looked  sol- 
emnly under  the  table  ;  and  during 
the  whole  inquisition  a  white  hand 
was  placed  conspicuously  on  the  edge 
of  the  open  door,  and  a  tremulous 
voice  inquired  behind  it  whether  the 
horrid  thing  was  quite,  quite  gone. 

"  The  enemy  has  retreated,  bag  and 
baggage,"  said  Denys  ;  and  handed 
in  the  trembling  fair,  who,  sitting 
down,  apologized  to  her  guests  for 
her  foolish  fears,  with  so  much  ear- 
nestness, grace,  and  seeming  self-ccn- 
tempt,  that,  but  for  a  sour  grin  on  his 
neighbor's  face,  Gerard  would  have 
j  been  taken  in  as  all  the  other  strqyi* 


168 


THK    CLOISTKK    ANI»    lUt    llhAKril. 


gcrs  were.  Dinner  cndol,  the  younj; 
laniilatiy  Ixj^t-d  an  \m;\\*uuc  friur 
at  lar  ri^ht  Imntl  tn  say  ^jnwe.  Ilf 
dflivi-n-il  II  lotufijih  one.  The  mo- 
ment hu  tift;an,  ahc  clttp|»c<l  her  white 
huixU  piuusly  to^'ther,  uml  held  them 
up  joine«l  li»r  mortals  to  admire  ;  't  is 
an  excellent  |m)'«o  for  ta|)cr  white  tin- 
i^T*  ;  and  ia.st  her  ev*"!*  upward  to- 
wards lieaven,  and  lelt  as  tluuikful 
to  it  o-H  a  iniku'pie  diH.>2t  while  cuttiiif; 
otl' with  yonr  thimMi-. 

Alter  •iipiM.T  the  two  friends  went 
to  the  utrect  door  ami  eyiil  the  mar- 
ket plot'o.     The  nustre-is  joined  tli 
and   pointe<l    out   the  town  hall 
lx)roiiyh  jail,  St.  ('athorine's  Chu;.  ... 
lie.     This  wa-s  courti-tfus,  to  tuiy  the 
least.      Hut    the   true   cause  mhjh   n- 
vealed  it.self ;  the  fair  hand  was  |H>ked 
riirht  under  their  eyw  every  time  im 
i.l'i  .  t     wa.s     indirated  ;    aiil 
>•■■  I  It  like  a  hasili-ik,  ami 

Ik  l-uiich  of  tietthit.      The  Mi..    ■  >,   

the  tr.ivell.T-i,  few  in  niimUT,  drew 
rouiiil  the  ;;reat  niarin;;  tin-,  and, 
oinittiiii;  to  (^i  on  the  »pit,  wcro 
fn)/.en  lichind  thou;;h  roo-stoii  in  front 
For,  if  the  (termaii  stovi-s  wer« 
prt'ssively    hot,    the    Kn-neh   ttall 

mnnj;er  wero  hitterly  eolil,  and.  ii! 

all,  stormy.  In  (Jermnny  nun  sat 
bareheaded  roiiml  the  stove  and  tixik 
off  their  upper  clothes,  hut  in  Bur- 
pundy  they  kept  on  their  hats, 
and  out  on  their  wannest  furs,  t' 
round  the  ;;nat  o|H'n  i  himnevpl  i 
at  whicii  the  external  air  ni.sned  i.... 
oiisly  from  do*)r and  ill-tittini;  window. 
However,  it  si-oms  their  meiliievol 
hacks  wero  broad  enough  to  l»>ar  it ; 
for  they  made  thom.selve.s  not  only 
comfortahio  but  merry,  nntl  l>n)ke 
harmle-s.s  jests  over  each  other  in  turn. 
For  instance,  Dcnys'.s  new  .sIiik-.s, 
thou:;h  not  in  dinrt  communication, 
had  this  d.iy  exploded  with  twin-like 
sympathy  and  unanimity.  "  Where 
do  yon  buy  your  shoon,  soldier  ?  " 
asked  one. 

Denys  looked  nskant  at  Gerard, 
and,  not  likint;  the  theme,  shook  it 
otf.  •■  I  f:ather  'em  ort'  the  trees  by 
the  roadside,"  said  he.  surlily. 


"  Then  you  pulicnsi  th-^w  too 
ripi',"  .said  the  ho!»te4.'',  who  wo-s  onlj 
u  fool  e.xtenially. 

"  Ay,  rotten  ripe,"  observed  aootb- 
er,  in.s|>ectiiu:  them. 

Uerarti  said  nothin;:,  but  pointed 
the  cirrulur  satire  bv  {Mintomime.  He 
slyly  put  out  Uktli  his  fct- 1,  one  after 
another,  under  Uenys'.s  eye.  with 
their  (rennan  shoi-^t,  on  which  u  hun- 
dretl  leagues  of  travel  had  produced 
no  elTect.  They  itevme«l  hewn  out  of 
a  riH'k. 

At  thi-H,  "  I  'II  twi.st  the  smooth 
ts  neck  that  .sold  na-  mine," 
■  d  Denys,  ill  hu;^-  wrath,  and 
..:.,irinetl  the  threat  with  siinjular 
oaths  pi>culiar  to  the  niediievol  mili- 
tary. The  landlady  put  her  finders 
in  her  ears,  thereby  exhibitint;  the 
hand  in  a  fre^h  attitude.  "  TuH  mo 
■1  he  ha.s  done  his  orisoiM,  some- 
r..ud  she,  mincinuly-  Ami  af- 
..  .   ..i.it  they  fell  to  tellmj;  stories. 

(icrard,  when  his  turn  came,  told 
the  adventure  of  Denys  and  (.ieriird 
at  the  inn  in  Domfomt,  and  so  well 
that  the  hearers  were  rapt  into  swoct 
ion  of  the  very  cxi>tence  of  rai- 
and  hamls.  Hut  this  made  her 
..  i  .  uneasy,  and  she  had  n-course  to 
her  t'rniid  coup.  This  mi^directed 
genius  hail  for  a  twelvemonth  past 
praetis<'d  yawning,  and  could  do  it 
now  at  any  moment  so  naturally  a.< 
t  all  creation  (;apin(r,  could  all 
>n  have  seen  her.  Bv  this 
ii[..iiis  she  ijot  in  all  her  cliarms. 
For  tir^t  she  sIiowinI  her  Irrth,  then, 
out  of  pkkI  brettlinj;,  you  know, 
closed  her  mouth  with  throe  taper 
fingers.  So,  the  moment  (Jeranl'a 
story  trot  t<K)  interesting:  and  ahrtorb- 
inp,  she  tiimwl  to  and  made  yawns, 
and  "  croix  siir  lalxjuchc." 

This  was  all  very  fine ;  but  Gerard 
was  an  artist,  and  artist.s  arr  chilled 
by  papinjr  auditors.  He  bore  up 
a;:ainst  the  yawns  a  lonp  time  ;  but, 
finding  they  came  froiu  n  Iwttomlcss 
reservoir,  lost  both  heart  and  temper, 
and.  sudilonly  rising  in  mid-narrative. 
said,  '■  But  I  weary  our  hostess,  and 
I  am  tired  myself;  so  pxxl  night  I " 


THE   CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


169 


whipped  a  candle  off  the  dresser, 
■wliispercd  Denys,  "  I  cannot  stand 
her,"  and  marched  to  bed  in  a  mo- 
ment. 

The  mijauree  colored  and  bit  her 
lips.  She  had  not  intended  her  by- 
phiy  for  Gerard's  eye ;  and  she  saw 
in  a  moment  she  had  been  rude,  and 
silly,  and  publicly  rebuked.  She  sat 
witti  cheek  on  fire,  and  a  little  natu- 
ral water  in  her  eyes,  and  looked 
ten  times  comelier,  and  more  wo- 
manly and  interesting,  than  she  had 
done  all  day.  The  desertion  of  the 
best  narrator  broke  up  the  party,  and 
the  unassuming  Denys  approached 
the  meditative  mijaure'e,  and  invited 
her  in  the  most  flattering  terms  to 
gamble  with  him.  She  started  from 
her  revery,  looked  him  down  into  the 
earth's  centre  ^^^th  chilling  dignity, 
and  consented,  for  she  remembered 
all  in  a  moment  what  a  show  of  hands 
gambling  admitted. 

The  soldier  and  the  mijauree  rat- 
tled the  dice.  In  which  sport  she 
was  so  taken  up  with  her  hands  that 
she  forgot  to  cheat,  and  Denys  won 
an  "  e'cu  au  soleil "  of  her.  She 
fumbled  slowly  with  her  purse,  partly 
because  her  sex  do  not  bum  to  pay 
debts  of  honor,  partly  to  admire  the 
play  of  her  little  knuckles  peeping 
between  their  soft  white  cushions. 
Denys  proposed  a  compromise. 
"  Three  silver  francs  I  win  of  you, 
fair  hostess.  Give  me  now  three 
kisses  of  this  wliite  hand,  and  we  '11 
e'en  cry  quits." 

"  You  are  malapert,"  said  the  lady, 
with  a  toss  of  her  head ;  "  besides, 
they  are  so  dirty.  See !  they  are 
like  ink " ;  and,  to  con^^nce  him, 
she  put  them  out  to  him  and  turned 
them  up  and  down.  They  were  no 
dirtier  than  cream  fresh  from  the  cow, 
and  she  knew  it ;  she  was  eternally 
washing  and  scenting  them. 

Denys  read  the  objection  like  the 
obsen'ant  warrior  he  was,  seized  them, 
and  mumbled  them. 

Finding  him  so  appreciative  of  her 
charm,  she  said  timidly,  "  AVill  you 
do  me  a  kindness,  good  soldier  ?  " 


"  A  thousand,  fair  hostess,  an  you 
will." 

"  Nay,  I  ask  but  one.  'T  is  to  tell 
thy  comrade  I  was  right  sorry  to  lose 
his  most  thrilling  story,  and  I  hope 
he  will  tell  me  the  rest  to-morrow 
morning.  Meantime  I  shall  not 
sleep  for  thinking  on 't.  AVilt  tell 
him  that  —  to  pleasure  me  ?  " 

"  Ay,  I  '11  tell  the  j'oung  savage. 
But  he  is  not  worthy  of  your  conde- 
scension, sweet  hostess.  He  would 
rather  be  aside  a  man  than  a  woman 
any  day." 

"  So  would —  ahem.  He  is  right ; 
the  young  women  of  the  day  are  not 
worthy  of  him,  '  un  tas  dcs  mijanrees.' 
He  has  a  good,  honest,  and  right 
comely  face.  Any  way,  I  would  not 
guest  of  mine  should  tlunk  me  unman- 
nerly, not  for  all  the  world.  Wilt 
keep  faith  with  me  and  tell  him  ?  " 

"  On  this  fair  hand  I  swear  it ;  and 
thus  I  seal  the  pledge." 

"  There  ;  no  need  to  melt  the  wax, 
though.  Now  go  to  bed.  And  tell 
him  ere  you  sleep." 

The  perverse  toad  (I  thank  thee, 
Marion,  for  teaching  me  that  word) 
was  inclined  to  bestow  her  slight  af- 
fections upon  Gerard.  Not  that  she 
was  inflammable ;  far  less  so  than 
many  that  passed  for  prudes  in  the 
town.  But  Gerard  possessed  a  triple 
attraction  that  has  ensnared  coquettes 
in  all  ages.  1 .  He  was  very  hand- 
some. 2.  He  did  not  admire  her  the 
least.  3.  He  had  given  her  a  good 
slap  in  the  face. 

Denys  woke  Gerard  and  gave  the 
message.  Gerard  was  not  enchanted. 
"  Dost  wake  a  tired  man  to  tell  him 
that  ?  Am  I  to  be  pestered  with  '  mi- 
jaure'es '  by  night  as  well  as  day  ?  " 

"  But  I  tell  thee,  novice,  thou  hast 
conquered  her;  trust  to  my  experi- 
ence ;  her  voice  sank  to  melodious 
whispers  ;  and  the  cunning  jade  did 
in  a  manner  bribe  me  to  carry  thee 
her  challenge  to  love's  lists  ;  for  so  I 
read  her  message." 

Denys  then,  assuming  the  senior 
and  the  man  of  the  world,  told  Gerard 
the  time  was  come  to  show  him  hovt 


170 


THK  CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


A  sniilicr  unJcr«tcxxl  friendship  and 
cnnuiriMlcric.  Italv  wiw  now  out  of 
tlic  (|iic?ttion.  FiiU-  Imil  providt-^l  U-t- 
tcr;  and  tliu  liliiid  jiidu  Forttini-  had 
KMiilcd  on  nuTit  for  ontf.  The 
"  Htud  of  (lold  "  had  U'vn  a  pros- 
p<Tou»  inn  ;  wonl<l  Ik:  a;^iiin  with  a 
man  at  tin  ht-ad.  A  po«Hl  pncnd 
hiid  farsi^htfil  plan*,  hut  was  al- 
ways n-ady  to  ahandon  tlu-in.  should 
Home  hrilliant  ailvanta^.'v  oiler,  and 
to  rrap  the  full  harvrst  of  tho  unfori-- 
Boon  ;  't  was  <hirtly  hy  this  trait  jrriat 
IcadtTH  dtfiati'd  little  onM  ;  for  theso 
latti-r  rould  do  nothin;;  not  cut  and 
drii-d  U-forfhand. 

"  Sorry  friemlship,  that  would 
marry  n>o  to  a  mljuunv,"  interposed 
(Jerard,  yawning. 

"  Coinradi-,  U-  n-nsonahle  ;  'tis  not 
the  fn.skiest  shivp  that  fills  down  the 
clitT.  All  creatures  must  have  their 
Hin^;,  soon  or  late,  and  why  not  a 
woman  ?  What  more  frivolous  than 
•  kitten  ?    What  graver  than  a  rat  '  " 

"  Hast  a  cxmI  eye  for  nature,  I)e- 
nys,"  said  (icranl,  "  that  I  pr<M-laim." 

"  A  U'tter  for  thine  interest,  ht>y. 
Trust,  then,  to  me  ;  these  little  doves, 
they  are  my  stmly  <lay  ami  ni>;ht ; 
happy  the  mnn  whose  wife  taketh  her 
flint;  In-fore  weillixk  ;  and  who  trip- 
jHlh  up  the  altar-steps  instead  of 
down  em.  Marria;,'e  it  alwavs 
chanj;eth  them  for  U-tter  or  el.s<'  (ut 
worse.  Whv,  (ierard,  she  is  honest 
when  all  is  done ;  and  he  is  no  man, 
nor  half  a  man,  that  cannot  mould 
any  honest  la.ss  like  a  hit  of  warm 
wax,  and  she  aye  In-side  him  at  bed 
and  iMtiird.  I  tell  thee  in  one  month 
thou  w  ilt  make  of  this  co<iuettc  the 
mutron  the  most  solK-r  in  the  town, 
and  of  all  its  wives  the  one  most  ilo- 
cile  and  submissive.  Why,  she  is  half 
tamed  already.  Nine  in  ten  meek  and 
mihl  ones  had  jrrntly  hated  thee  like 
poison  all  their  lives  for  woundinjj 
of  their  hidden  pride.  IJut  she  for  an 
artront  proffers  affection.  By  Joshua 
his  huple,  a  generous  la.ss,  and  void  of 
petty  malice.  When  thou  wast  pone 
she  sat  a  thinkinj;  and  sf>oke  not.  A 
sure  siijn  of  love  in  one  of  her  sex ; 


for  of  all  thin;,'9  else  thcv  Rpeak  era 
they  think.  Also  her  voire  did  sink 
exetvdin;;  low  in  dis«-oursinf;  of  the*, 
and  munnured  sweetly  ;  another  in- 
fallible »ii;n.  The  Uilt  hath  struok 
and  rankles  in  her.  O,  In-  jovful ! 
Art  silent  *  I  soe  't  is  setth-<(.  I 
shall  i^  alone  to  Hemiremont,  alone 
and  sad.  Hut,  pilliit^v  and  |>oleaxes  ! 
what  care  I  for  that,  since  my  dear 
coinrnih"  will  stay  hen-,  luudlonl  of 
the  '  Tete  (lOr,"  and  safe  from  all  the 
storms  of  life  '  Wilt  think  of  me, 
(i<-ranl,  now  and  thm  by  thy  warm 
tire,  —  of  me  cum|H-<l  on  some  windjr 
heath,  or  lyinj:  in  wet  tn*nches,  or 
wouinh'd  on  the  fiehl  and  far  fn>tn 
comfort  '  Nay  "  (and  this  he  said  in 
a  manner  trulv  noble),  "  not  comfort- 
less. Ki>r  cold,  or  wet,  or  blewlinj;, 
't  will  still  wann  my  heart  to  lie  on 
my  hack  and  think  that  I  have  placed 
mv  dear  friend  and  comrade  true  in 
the  '  Tete  d'Or,"  far  from  a  soldier's 
ills." 

"I  let  you  nin  on,  dear  Denrs." 
said  (Jerard,  .softly,  "  liocau.so  at  each 
word  vou  show  me  the  tnasure  of  a 
j;ood  heart.  But  now,  U-think  thcc, 
my  troth  is  pliphtt-*!  there  when-  my 
heart  it  clinpi-th.  You  so  leal,  would 
you  make  me  disloyal  f  " 

"  Perdition  seize  me,  but  I  forgot 
that,"  saiil  I)i-iiys. 

"  No  more  then,  but  hie  thee  to  lioil, 
pood  Deny*.  Next  to  Margaret  I 
love  thee  best  on  earth,  anil  value  thy 
'  cii'ur  d'or  '  far  more  than  a  ilozen  of 
these  '  Tctes  d'()r.'  So  prithee  call 
me  at  the  first  blush  of  rosy-finpered 
mom,  and  let 's  away  ere  the  woman 
with  the  hands  In-  stirring." 

They  rose  with  the  dawn,  and 
broke  their  fast  by  the  kitchen  fire. 

Denys  inquired  of  the  girl  whether 
the  mistress  was  about. 

"  Nay  ;  but  she  hath  risen  from  her 
bed  ;  by  the  same  token  I  am  carrv- 
ing  her  this  to  clean  her  withal '' ; 
and  she  filled  a  mug  with  boiling  wa- 
ter, and  took  it  up  stairs. 

"  Behold,"  said  Gerard,  "  the  very 
elements  must  Im?  warmed  to  suit  her 
skin  ;  what  had  the  saints  said  which 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


171 


prill  chose  the  coWest  pool  ?    Away, 
ere  she  come  down  and  catch  us." 

They  paid  the  score,  and  left  the 
"  Tote' d'Or,"  while  its  mistress  was 
washinfr  her  hands. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

Outside  the  town  they  found  the 
snow  fresh  trampled  hy  innumerable 
wolves  every  foot  of  the  road. 

"  We  did  well  to  take  the  old  man's 
advice,  Denys." 

"  Ay,  did  we.  For,  now  I  think 
on  't,  I  did  hear  them  last  night  a  scur- 
rying under  our  window  and  howling 
and  whining  for  man's  flesh  in  yon 
market-place.  But  no  fat  burgher  did 
pity  the  poor  vagabones,  and  drop 
out  o'  window." 

Gerard  smiled,  but  with  an  air  of 
abstraction. 

And  they  plodded  on  in  silence. 

"  What  dost  meditate  so  pro- 
foundly ? " 

"  Thy  goodness." 

Denys  was  anything  but  pleased  at 
this  answer.  Amongst  his  oddities 
you  may  have  observed  that  he  could 
stand  a  great  deal  of  real  imperti- 
nence, he  was  so  good-humored,  but 
would  fire  up  now  and  then  where 
not  even  the  shadow  of  a  ground  for 
anger  existed. 

"  A  civil  question  merits  a  civil  re- 
ply," said  he,  very  dryly. 

"  Alas,  I  meant  no  other,"  said 
Gerard. 

"  Then  why  pretend  you  were 
thinking  of  my  goodness,  when  you 
know  I  have  no  goodness  under  my 
skin  1  " 

"  Had  another  said  this,  I  had  an- 
swered '  Thou  liest.'  But  to  thee  I 
say :  '  Hast  no  eye  for  men's  quali- 
ties, but  only  for  women's.'  And, 
once  more,  I  do  defy  thy  unreason- 
rtble  choler,  and  say  I  was  think- 
ing on  thy  goodness  of  overnight. 
Wouldst  have  wedded  me  to  the 
* Tete  d'Or,'  or  rather  to  the  'tete  de 


veau  dovce,'  and  left  thyself  soli- 
tary." 

"  O,  are  ye  there,  lad  ?  "  said  De- 
nys, recovering  his  good-humor  in  a 
moment.  "  Well,  but,  to  speak  sooth, 
I  meant  that  not  for  goodness,  but 
for  friendship  and  tfue  fellowship,  no 
more.  And  let  me  tell  you,  my 
young  master,  my  conscience  it 
pricketh  me  even  now  for  letting  you 
turn  your  back  thus  on  fortune  and 
peaceful  days.  A  tnier  friend  than  I 
had  ta'en  and  somewhat  hamstrung 
thee.  Then  hadst  thou  been  fain  to 
lie  smarting  at  the  'Tete  d'Or'  a 
month  or  so ;  von  skittish  lass  had 
nursed  thee  tenderly,  and  all  had 
been  well.  Blade  I  had  in  hand  to 
do 't,  but,  remembering  how  thou 
hatest  pain,  though  it  be  but  a  scratch, 
my  craven  heart  it  failed  me  at  the 
pinch."  And  Denys  wore  a  look  of 
humble  apology  for  his  lack  of  virtu- 
ous resolution  when  the  path  of  duty 
lay  so  clear. 

Gerard  raised  his  eyebrows  with 
astonishment  at  this  monstrous  but 
thoroughly  characteristic  revelation  ; 
however,  this  new  and  delicate  point 
of  friendship  was  never  discussed,  viz. 
whether  one  ought  in  all  love  to  cut 
the  tendon  Achilles  of  one's  friend. 
For  an  incident  interposed. 

"  Here  cometh  one  in  our  rear 
a  riding  on  his  neighbor's  mule," 
shouted  Denys. 

Gerard  turned  round.  "  And  how 
know  ye  't  is  not  his  own,  pray  ?  " 

"  O  blind !  Because  he  rides  it 
with  no  discretion." 

And  in  truth  the  man  came  gal- 
loping like  a  fury.  But  what  aston- 
ished the  friends  most  was  that,  on 
reaching  them,  the  rustic  rider's  eyes 
opened  saucer-like,  and  he  drew  the 
rein  so  suddenly  and  powerfully  that 
the  mule  stuck  out  her  fore  legs 
and  went  sliding  between  the  pedes- 
trians like  a  four-legged  table  on  cast- 
ers. 

"  I  trow  ye  are  from  the  '  Tete 
d'Or.' " 

They  assented.  "  Which  of  ye  is 
the  younger  ?  " 


172 


THE   CLOISTKH    AND   THK    UKAKTH. 


"  He  thiit  wo-s  fxirn  thn  later,"  sai'l 
DtnvH,  winking  at  his  Loiiipaniou. 

•'  (Jraimrtv  tor  the  m-ws.  ' 

"  Come,  ilivino  tht-n  !  " 

"  Ami  dliall.  Thy  Itcanl  is  rip*- ; 
thy  fellow'it  i*  ^jrwn  ;  ho  ithnll  l>c  tho 
viiiin^tT  :  hori',  yoiinpsttT."  Aiul  he 
helfl  him  out  a  pa|)cr  paikct.  "  Yc 
lift  this  ut  the  '  Tetc  d'Or,"  and  our 
niHtri'SH  M-uiU  it  yc." 

"  Nay.  j:<xi<l  ffi'low,  mcthink.H  I  left 
niiuijht."  And  (icrard  fi-lt  his  jjouch, 
etc. 

"  Would  ve  make  our  huri^rjis  n 
liar,"  iiaid  the  rustic,  n-pniurhfully  ; 
"  and  I  >hnll  have  n<*  |MttirlMiin-  '  " 
(otill  iiioro  reprouchfully)  "and  came 
ventrr  u  tcrrc." 

"  Nay,  thou  shalt  hnvo  pourlK)irv," 
and  hi>  ^ave  him  a  umall  ruin. 

"  A  la  iMjniic  lu'uri',"  crinl  tho 
clown,  ami  hin  foaturoji  lioanu"«l  with 
di.spn>iK>rtionato  joy.  "  The  Vir^jin 
pt>  with  yo  ;  come  up,  .Icnny  !  "  and 
l.iic  k  hf  went  "  Htuniai  h  to  earth,"  as 
hi.H  nation  i*  |)loitscd  to  call  it. 

Ciorard  un<lid   tho   packet ;    it  vraa 
a)M)ut  six  inchoiH  Mjuarc,  and  intido  it  \ 
ho  found  another  pncket,  which  ron-  i 
tiiin<Ml  a  packet,  and  .ho  on.      At  tho  | 
fourth  he  hurled  the  whole  thin^;  in-  ! 
to  the  snow.      Denys  took  it  out  an  I 
n-huki-d   Ui*  jH'tulance.     Me  excu»e<l 
hims<-lf  on  the  ground  of  hating  af- 
ftrtation. 

Denys  atti^tol  " '  the  ^n'at  toe  of 
the  little  d.iuuhlor  of  Ilerodiaa  ' 
there  was  no  alVcction  here,  hut  only 
woman's  fjoo*'  *'••  DoulitlcsH  the 
wrii})s  contained  soiuethinj;  which,  out 
of  delicacy,  or  her  box'-s  lovely  cun- 
ning, she  would  not  her  hind  sliouM 
8C0  her  lH'-*tow  on  a  younj^  man  ;  thy 
garter,  to  wit." 

"  I  wear  none." 

'•  IKt  own  thi^n ;  or  a  lock  of  her 
hiiir.  What  is  this  ?  A  piece  of  raw 
silk  fresh  from  the  worm.  Well,  of 
all  the  love-tokens  !  " 

"  Now  who  hut  thee  ever  dreamed 
that  she  is  so  nau;:ht  as  send  me  love- 
tokens  ?  1  saw  uo  harm  in  her,  — 
barrin<;  her  hands." 

"  Stay,    hero    u    something    hard 


lurking  in  thii  soft  nest.  Come  forth, 
I  say,  little  nostlini;  !  .Saiiiti*  and  pike- 
stavos  !   look  at  this  !  " 

It  was  a  gold  rinir.  with  a  great 
amethyst  glowing  and  >parklin{,',  full- 
eoloretl,  hut  pure  as  ervstid. 

"  How  lovely  !  "  said  Gerard,  in- 
no<nt»ily. 

"  And  heri'  is  something  writ ;  hmmI 
it  thou  !  I  read  not  so  glih  as  some, 
wlun  I  know  not  the  matter  boforo- 
hanil." 

GemnJ  took  the  paper.  "  'T  i«  a 
[io«y  ;  and  fairly  enough  writ."  Ho 
read  the  linos,  lilushing  like  a  girL 
They  wcn>  very  naive,  and  may  bo 
thus  Knglished  :  — 

"  Youth,  with  ttir«  mjr  h«»rt  U  flnlde. 
Cm*  l«<rk  •  ■  "  ■■  •-  1  '•••■  M-i|^'  ! 
Wilt  no*  • 
Of  hir  «li  •  .-pe. 

Oft  tho  W..C,  .  , -1  ohi. 

Come  b*ck  tu  '  the  llnlJc  u(  RulJ.' " 

"  Tho  little  dove  !  "  purn-d  DenT*. 

"  The  i,Teat  owl  !  To  go  and  rmk 
her  giMwl  name  thus.  However, 
thank  Heaven  she  has  played  this 
prank  with  an  honest  lad  that  will 
ne'er  exjtosc  her  fcdly.  But  O  the 
niTversene-'<s  !  Could  she  not  liestow 
her  nauseousncHs  on  thw  ?  "  Denyi 
sighed  and  shrn;,'t'<'<l.  —  "  *^'n  thee 
that  art  as  ri|)C  for  folly  as  herself." 

Denys  confes*4Ml  that  his  young 
friend  had  haq>o<l  his  very  thought. 
'T  was  passinir  stranire  to  him  that  a 
damsel  with  eyes  in  her  hcail  should 
pass  by  a  man,  and  U-stow  her  lUfi-c- 
tions  on  a  tMiy.  Still  ho  could  not 
but  recognize  in  this  the  Ixjunty  of 
Nature.  Hoys  wore  human  brings, 
after  all,  and,  but  for  this  (xrasional 
caprice  of  women,  their  lot  would  l>e 
too  terrible  ;  they  would  !«  out  of  the 
sun  altogether,  blighted,  and  never 
come  to  anything ;  since  onlv  the 
fair  coulil  make  a  man  out  of  such 
unpromising  materials  as  a  Iwy. 
Gerard  interrupted  this  flattering  dis- 
course to  iK-g  the  warrior-philrjsopher's 
ncc»'ptAnce  of  the  lady's  rint;.  lie  re- 
fused it  flatly,  and  insisted  on  (ic- 
rard  ^:oin^  back  to  the  "  Tote  d'Ur" 
at  once,  ring  and  all,  like  a  man,  and 


THE   CLOISTER  AND  THE   HEARTH. 


173 


not  letting  a  poor  girl  hold  out  her 
arms  to  him  in  vain. 

"  Her  hands,  yon  mean." 

"  Her  hand,  with  the  "  Tete  d'Or  " 
in  it." 

Failing  in  this,  he  was  for  putting 
the  ring  on  his  friend's  finger.  Ge- 
rard declined.  "  I  wear  a  ring  al- 
ready." 

"  What,  that  sorry  gimcrack  ?  why, 
'tis  pewter,  or  tin  at  best;  and  this 
virgin  gold,  forbye  the  jewel." 

"  Ay,  but 't  was  Margaret  gave  me 
this  one ;  and  I  value  it  above  rubies. 
I  '11  neither  part  with  it  nor  give  it  a 
rival  "  ;  and  he  kissed  the  base  metal, 
and  bade  it  fear  naught. 

"  I  see  the  owl  hath  sent  her  ring  to 
a  goose,"  said  Denys,  sorrowfully. 
However,  he  prevailed  on  Gerard  to 
fasten  it  inside  his  bonnet.  To  this, 
indeed,  he  had  consented  very  readily, 
for  sovereign  qualities  were  univer- 
sally ascribed  to  certain  jewels ;  and 
the  amethyst  ranked  high  among 
these  precious  talismans. 

When  this  was  disposed  of,  Gerard 
earnestly  requested  his  friend  to  let 
the  matter  drop,  since  speaking  of  the 
other  sex  to  him  made  him  pine  so 
for  Margaret,  and  almost  unmanned 
him  with  the  tjiought  that  each  step 
was  taking  him  farther  from  her.  "  I 
am  no  general  lover,  Denys.  There 
is  room  in  my  heart  for  one  sweet- 
heart and  for  one  friend.  I  am  far 
from  my  dear  mistress ;  and  my 
friend,  a  few  leagues  more  and  I  must 
lose  him  too.  O  let  me  drink  thy 
friendship  pure  while  I  may,  and  not 
dilute  with  any  of  these  stupid  fe- 
males." 

"  And  shalt,  honey-pot,  and  shalt," 
says  Denys,  kindly.  "  But  as  to  my 
leaving  thee  at  Remiremont,  reckon 
thou  not  on  that !  For  "  (three  con- 
secutive oaths)  "  if  I  do.  Nay,  I 
shall  propose  to  thee  to  stay  forty- 
eight  hours  there  while  I  kiss  my 
mother  and  sisters,  and  the  females 
generall}'^,  and  on  go  you  and  I  to- 
gether to  the  sea." 

"  Denys  !  Denys  !  " 

"  Denys    not    me  !     'T  is   settled. 


Gainsay  me  not !  or  I  '11  go  with  thee 
to  Rome.  Why  not"?  his  Holiness 
the  pope  hath  ever  some  little  merry 
pleasant  war  toward,  and  a  Burgun- 
dian  soldier  is  still  welcome  in  his 
ranks." 

On  this  Gerard  opened  his  heart. 
"  Denys,  ere  I  fell  in  with  thee,  I  used 
often  to  halt  on  the  road,  unable  to 
go  farther,  my  puny  heart  so  pulled 
me  back ;  and  then,  after  a  short 
prayer  to  the  saints  for  aid,  would  I 
rise  and  drag  my  most  unwilling  body 
onward.  But,  since  I  joined  com- 
pany with  thee,  great  is  my  courage. 
I  have  found  the  saying  of  the  an- 
cients true,  that  better  is  a  bright 
comrade  on  the  weary  road  than  a 
horse  Utter  ;  and,  dear  brother,  when 
I  do  think  of  what  we  have  done  and 
suffered  together !  Savest  my  life 
from  the  bear,  and  from  yet  more  sav- 
age thieves ;  and  even  poor  I  did 
make  shift  to  draw  thee  out  of  Rhine, 
and  somehow  loved  thee  double  from 
that  hour.  How  many  ties  tender 
and  strong  between  us !  Had  I  my 
will,  I  'd  never,  never,  never,  never 
part  with  my  Denys  on  this  side  the 
grave.  Well-a-day  !  God  his  will  be 
done." 

"  No,  my  will  shall  be  done  this 
time,"  shouted  Denys.  "  Le  bon 
Dieu  has  bigger  fish  to  fry  than  you 
or  me.  I  '11  go  with  thee  to  Rome. 
There  is  my  hand  on  it." 

"  Think  what  you  say !  'T  is  im- 
possible.    'T  is  too  selfish  of  me." 

"  I  tell  thee  't  is  settled.  No  power 
can  change  me.  At  Remiremont  I 
borrow  ten  pieces  of  my  uncle,  and 
on  we  go  :  't  is  fixed ;  irrevocable  as 
fate." 

They  shook  hands  over  it.  Then 
Gerard  said  nothing,  for  his  heart 
was  too  full ;  but  he  ran  twice  round 
his  companion  as  he  walked,  then 
danced  backwards  in  front  of  him, 
and  finally  took  his  hand,  and  so  on 
they  went  hand  in  hand  like  sweet- 
hearts, till  a  company  of  mounted 
soldiers,  about  fifty  in  number,  rose 
to  siglit  on  the  brow  of  a  hill. 

"  See  the  banner  of  Burgundy," 


174 


THE  CLOISTEK  AND  THK  IlKAKTH. 


Buid  Denys,  joyfully.     "  I  shall  look 
out  for  n  comrmle  among  these." 

"ilow  gorgeous  is  the  stAiidnrd  in 
the  sun  I"  Kuid  Gerard;  "and  how 
lirave  are  the  lenders  with  velvet  and 
feathers,  and  steel  breastplates  like 
glassy  mirrors  I" 

W  lu-ii  th<'V  came  near  enough  to 
distinguish  faces,  Denys  uttered  an 
exclamation  :  "  Why,  'tis  the  IJa*- 
tard  of  Hurgiinily,  as  I  live.  Nay, 
then,  there  is  fighting  afoot,  sinee  he 
is  out ;  a  palUnt  leader,  Gerard, 
rates  his  life  no  higher  than  a  private 
soliiiiT's,  and  a  S4)ldiiT's  no  higher 
than  a  tomtit's;  and  that  is  the  ea|>- 
tain  for  me." 

'•  And  see,  l)enj-«,  the  very  mules, 
with  their  great  hraw  frontlets  and 
tr;ip])ings,  .seent  proud  to  earrv  them  ; 
no  uonder  men  itch  to  In;  soldiers  "  ; 
ami  in  the  mid->t  of  this  iniUM-cnt  ad- 
miration the  troop  roiae  up  with 
them. 

"  Halt !  "  crii-d  a  stentorian  voiee. 
The  tn)op  halti*<I.  The  iia.^tard  of 
Hiirgundy  In-iit  his  brow  glo<imily  on 
Denys  "  How  now,  arbalestrier  f  how 
eomes  it  thy  f.u-e  is  tnrne«i  south- 
wiiril,  when  every  good  hand  and 
heart  is  hurrying  northward  ! 

Denys  replied  resjKvtfully  that  he 
was  going  on  leave,  after  .•«omc  years 
of  ser>iee,  to  sec  his  kindred  at  llc- 
miremont. 

"  Good.  But  this  is  not  the  time' 
for 't ;  the  duehy  is  disturl>etl.  Ho  ! 
bring  that  dead  soldier's  mule  to  the 
front ;  and  thou  mount  her  and  for- 
ward with  us  to  Flanders." 

"  So  jilease  your  Highness,"  said 
Denys,  linnly,  "that  may  not  l>e. 
My  iiDine  is  elosc  nt  liand.  I  have  not 
seen  it  these  tlirce  years,  and,  above 
all,  I  have  this  jwor  youth  in  charge  ; 
whom  I  may  not,  cannot,  leave  till  I 
sec  him  shipped  for  Rome." 

"Dost  bandy  words  with  me?" 
said  the  chief,  with  amazement,  turn- 
ing f\ist  to  wrath.  "  Art  weary  o'  thy 
life  ?  Let  go  the  youth's  hand,  and 
into  the  saddle  without  more  idle 
words." 

Denys  made  no  reply  ;  but  he  held 


Gerard's  haml  the  tighter,  and  looked 
defiance. 

At  tliis  the  Bastard  roared,  "Jar- 
nae,  ilismoiint  six  of  thy  archers,  and 
shf)ot  me  this  white-livered  cur  dead 
where  he  stands, — for  an  example." 

The  young  (""ount  ile  Jarnac,  sec- 
ond in  command,  gave  the  onkr,  and 
the  men  dismounted  to  exi-cuic  it. 

"  Strip  him  naked,"  Hai<l  the  Iia.4- 
tanl,  in  the  cold  tone  of  military  busi- 
ness, "  and  put  his  arms  and  acroutn'- 
ments  on  the  spare  mule.  We  'II 
maybe  (Ind  some  clown  worthier  to 
wear  them." 

Denys  gn>aned  aloud,  "  Am  I  to  bo 
shanie<l  as  well  its  slaiti  ?  " 

"  U  nay  !  nay  !  nay  !  "  cried  Gc- 
ninl,  awaking  from  the  stu|>or  into 
which  this  tli(indcrlx>It  of  tyratmv  hiul 
tliniwn  him.  "  He  shall  go  witfi  yii 
on  the  instant.  I  'd  licvcr  part  widi 
him  forever  than  sec  a  hair  ol  his  deaf 
head  harmed.  O  sir,  O  my  lor  I, 
give  a  jKMir  boy  but  a  minute  to  I  id 
his  «>nly  friend  farewell !  he  will  go 
with  you.  I  swear  he  shall  go  with 
you." 

The  stem  leader  nfxlded  a  Cfdd, 
contemptuous  ass4.'nt.  "  Thou,  Jar- 
nac, stay  with  them,  and  bring  him 
on  alive  or  dead,  —  forward  !  "  And 
he  n\sumed  the  manh,  followed  by  all 
the  band  but  the  young  count  and  six 
archers,  one  of  whom  held  the  spare 
mule. 

Denys  and  Gerard  gazed  at  one  an- 
other haggnnlly.     O  what  a  lf>ok ! 

And  after  this  mute  interchange  of 
anguish  they  spoke  hurriedly,  for  the 
moments  were  flying  by. 

"  Thou  grx'st  to  Holland ;  thou 
knowest  where  she  bides.  Tell  her 
all.  She  will  be  kind  to  thee  for  my 
sake." 

"  O,  sorry  tale  that  I  shall  carry 
her !  For  God's  sake,  go  back  to  the 
'  Tetc  d'Or.'     I  am  mad." 

"Hush!  Let  me  think:  have  I 
naught  to  say  to  thee,  Denys  ?  my 
head  !  my  hisid  !  " 

"  Ah !  I  have  it.  Make  for  the 
Rhine,  Gerard !  Strasbourg.  'T  is 
but  a  step.     And  down  the  oorrcnt  ta 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


175 


Rotterdam.  Margaret  is  there  :  I  go 
thither.  I'll  tell  her  thou  art  com- 
ing-.    Wc  shall  all  be  together." 

"  My  lads,  haste  ye,  or  you  will  get 
us  into  trouble,"  said  the  count,  firm- 
ly, but  not  harshly  now. 

"  O  sir,  one  moment !  one  little 
moment !  "  panted  Gerard. 

"  Cursed  be  the  land  I  was  born  in ; 
cursed  be  the  race  of  man,  and  he 
that  made  them  what  they  are ! " 
screamed  Denys. 

"  Hush  !  Denys,  hush  !  blaspheme 
not !  O  God,  forgive  him,  he  wots  not 
what  he  says.  Be  patient,  Denys,  — 
be  patient !  though  we  meet  no  more 
on  e^irth,  let  us  meet  in  a  better  world, 
where  no  blasphemer  may  enter.  To 
my  heart,  lost  friend ;  for  what  are 
words  now  ?  "  He  held  out  his  arms, 
and  they  locked  one  another  in  a  close 
embrace.  They  kissed  one  another 
again  and  again,  speechless,  and  the 
tears  rained  down  their  cheeks.  And 
the  Count  Jarnac  looked  on  amazed, 
but  the  rougher  soldiers,  to  whom 
comrade  was  a  sacred  name,  looked 
on  with  some  pity  in  their  hard  faces. 
Then,  at  a  sign;xl  from  Jarnac,  with 
kind  force  and  words  of  rude  consola- 
tion, they  almost  lifted  Denys  on  to 
the  mule,  and,  putting  him  in  the 
middle  of  them,  spurred  after  their 
leader.  And  Gerard  ran  wildly  after 
(for  the  lane  turned),  to  see  the  very 
last  of  him ;  and  the  last  glimpse  he 
caught,  Denys  was  rocking  to  and  fro 
on  ids  mule,  and  tearing  his  hair  out. 
But  at  this  sight  .something  rose  in 
Gerard's  throat  so  high,  so  high,  he 
could  run  no  more  nor  breathe,  but 
gasped,  and  leaned  against  the  snow- 
clad  hedge,  seizing  it,  and  choking 
piteously. 

The  thorns  ran  into  his  hand. 

After  a  bitter  struggle  he  got  his 
breath  again  ;  and  now  began  to  see 
his  own  misfortune;  yet  not  all  at 
once  to  realize  it,  so  sudden  and 
numbing  was  the  stroke.  He  stag- 
gored  on,  but  scarce  feelmg  or  caring 
whither  he  was  going ;  and  every  now 
£nd  then  he  stopped,  and  his  arms  fell ) 


and  his  head  sank  on  his  chest,  and 
he  stood  motionless ;  then  he  said  to 
himself,  "  Can  this  thing  be '?  this 
must  be  a  dream.  'T  is  scarce  five 
minutes  since  we  were  so  happy,  walk- 
ing handed,  faring  to  Rome  together, 
and  we  admired  them  and  their  gay 
banners  and  helmets,  —  0  hearts  of 
hell ! " 

All  nature  seemed  to  stare  now  as 
lonely  as  himself.  Not  a  creature  in 
sight.  No  color  but  white.  He,  the 
ghost  of  his  former  self,  wandered 
alone  among  the  ghosts  of  trees  and 
fields  and  hedges.  Desolate !  deso- 
late !    desolate  !     All  was  desolate. 

He  knelt  and  gathered  a  little  snow. 
"  Nay,  I  dream  not ;  for  this  is  si.uw  : 
cold  as  the  world's  heart.  It  is 
bloody,  too :  what  may  that  mean  ? 
Fool  1  't  is  from  thy  hand.  I  mind 
not  the  wound.  Ay,  I  see :  thorns. 
Welcome  !  kindly  foes ;  I  felt  ye  not, 
ye  ran  not  into  my  heart.  Ye  arc  not 
cruel  like  men." 

He  had  risen,  and  was  dragging  his 
leaden  limbs  along,  when  he  heard 
horses'  feet  and  gay  voices  behind  him. 
He  turned  with  a  joyful  but  wild  hope 
that  the  soldiers  had  relented  and 
were  bringing  Denys  back.  But  no, 
it  was  a  gay  cavalcade.  A  gentleman 
of  rank  and  his  favorites,  in  velvet 
and  furs  and  feathers  ;  and  four  or  five 
armed  retainers  in  buff  jerkins. 

They  swept  gayly  by. 

Gerard  never  looked  at  them  after 
they  were  gone  by.  Certain  gay  shad- 
ows had  come  and  passed ;  that  was 
all.  He  was  like  one  in  a  dream. 
But  he  was  rudely  wakened ;  sudden- 
ly a  voice  in  front  of  him  cried 
harshly,  "  Stand  and  deliver !  "  and 
there  were  three  of  the  gentleman's 
servants  in  front  of  him.  They  had 
ridden  back  to  rob  him. 

"  How,  ye  false  knaves,"  said  he, 
quite  calmly,  "  would  ye  shame  your 
noble  master?  He  will  hang  ye  to 
the  nearest  tree " ;  and  with  these 
words  he  drew  his  sword  doggedly, 
and  set  his  back  to  the  hedge. 

One  of  the  men  instantly  levelled 


17(5 


THE  CLOISTER   AND  THE   HEARTH. 


hiii  j)Otroml  at  him.  But  another, 
Ifc.ss  .•.aiii.'uiiiiirv.  iiitcTpo«*-<l.  "  Ho  nut 
IK)  Uiiniy  !  Ami  l>v  nut  tiiou  .so  mail! 
lA»>k  yoiKlir !  " 

(icranl  l<>ok(><l,  and  warrc  a  liiin- 
(Ircil  yiiril.-<  olV  tin-  iKibJcinan  ninl  \u» 
fricinl.H  liatl  hiiltitl,  an<l  ml  on  ihi-ir 
liorHf.H  looking  at  tin-  lawless  act,  too 
})ri>uil  to  do  tlicir  own  dirty  work,  hut 
not  t<M>  |irouil  to  nap  the  fruit,  and 
watch  \vt>t  tlu'ir  a^rnt.-*  nhouid  rob 
thi'ni  of  unothiT  man';*  money. 

'I'ho  niildiT  M-nant  then,  (^mmI- 
naturt-d  fill«»w,  xhowcd  (itnird  n-si-st- 
ancf  wiu  vain  ;  n-mindi-d  him  rom- 
inoii  thifvi'.s  often  tiM»k  the  life  as  well 
a.s  (he  |iur>te,  anil  a.H>ured  him  it  ^o^t 
II  mint  to  Ik-  a  (^Mitleman  ;  his  master 
had  lost  money  at  play  o%enii^,'ht, 
and  wiLs  ^>in;;  to  visit  his  leman,  luid 
•u  must  take  money  where  he  saw  it. 

"  TluTefort',  p<rk1  youth,  consider 
that  we  rol)  not  for  ourselvej*,  and  de- 
liver u.s  that  fat  purse  at  thy  pinlle 
witliKiit  more  ado,  nor  put  us  to  the 
ruin  of  slittiii;;  thy  thruut  and  taking 
It  all  the  Siune." 

"  This  knave  is  ri>;ht,"  said  Ge- 
rard, ealmly,  aloud,  hut  to  hiins«'lf. 
"  I  oiiiiht  not  to  tlinj;  away  my  lifu  ; 
Margaret  wmild  Ik'  so  horry.  Take, 
then,  the  poor  man's  purse  to  the  rich 
man's  jMiiieh  ;  and  with  it  this:  tell 
him  I  jiray  the  Il>dy  Trinity  eaih 
coin  in  it  may  hum  his  hand,  and 
freeze  his  heart,  and  blast  hiii  soul 
forever.  Bep>ne,  and  leave  me  to  my 
sorrow  !  "     He  tlunj;  them  the  punk-. 

They  nxle  away  muttering  ;  lor  his 
words  jjriekfsl  them  a  little,  —  a  very 
little;  and  he  stajrp-reil  on.  jKjnnile.ss 
now  as  Well  as  frienilii-ss,  till  he 
came  to  the  »h1;;c  of  a  wood.  Then, 
thou;;h  his  heart  could  hardly  feel 
this  second  blow,  his  ju(i;,'ment  did  ; 
and  he  bc>;an  to  ask  himself  what 
Wivs  the  u.<c  fT'^inc:  farther.  He  sat 
down  on  the  hard  mad,  and  ran  his 
nails  into  his  hair,  anil  tried  to  think 
for  the  best,  —  a  task  all  the  more  dif- 
ficult that  a  .«trange  drowsiness  was 
5tealinj;  over  him.  Konie  he  could 
never  reach  without  money.  Denys 
had  »aid,    '  Go    to    Strasbourg,   and 


down  the  Rhine  home."  lie  would 
oImv  Denys.  Hut  how  f,'et  to  Strm*^ 
bour,:  without  money  ? 

'I'hen  suddenly  .■^•enicd  to  ring  in 
his  eur.s  :  — 

"  Oyt  thf  world  prore  hanh  and  cuU, 
CoiiM  t>«ck  to  the  lledar  of  ruUI." 

*'  And  if  I  do  I  must  po  iw  her  ser- 
vant ;  I  who  am  Marumn-t't.  I  nm 
aweary,  aweary.  I  will  sleep,  and 
dream  all  i*  as  it  was.  Ah  me,  how 
happy  Were  we  an  hour  airone  !  wo 
little  knew  how  hajipy.  There  i^  a 
hou.M.* ;  the  owner  well  to  do.  What 
if  I  told  him  my  wronjr,  and  prayed 
his  aid  to  ntrieve  mv  purse,  and  so 
to  Hliiiic.  Find  !  is  he  not  a  man 
like  the  rest  '  He  would  .worn  mc 
and  trample  me  lower.  Denvs 
cursed  the  race  of  men.  That  wilf  I 
never;  but  O,  I  '^in  to  loathe  and 
dread  them.  Nay,  here  will  I  lie  till 
sunset  ;  then  dnrklini;  cnn-p  into  this 
rich  man's  bam,  and  take  by  stealth 
a  draii;;lit  of  milk  or  a  handful  o' 
pruin  to  ke«p  liody  and  soul  to;:elher. 
Gixl,  who  hath  s«.tn  the  rich  rob  roc, 
will  iieradventure  forjfivc  me.  ThcjT 
say  t  is  ill  sleipinjj  on  the  snow. 
Death  steals  on  such  sle«>jK'nt  with 
maflled  fitt  and  honey  breath.  Hut 
what  can  I  '  I  am  aweary,  aweary. 
Shall  this  Ix-  the  wikkI  where  lie  the 
wolves  yon  old  man  sjKike  of  ?  I 
must  e'en  trust  them :  they  are  not 
men ;  and  I  am  so  aweary." 

He  crawled  to  the  roadside,  and 
.stretched  out  his  limbs  on  tho  enuw 
with  a  dei'p  siph. 

"  Ah,  ti-ar  not  thine  hair  so  !  tcar- 
eth  mv  heart  to  si-c  thee  !  " 

"  hiar — fiaret.  Never  sec  me 
more.     Poor  Mar — ga — ret." 

And  the  too  tender  heart  wa.<i  still 
'      And   the  constant  lover,  and  friend 
I  of  antique  mould,    lay  silent  on  the 
I  snow ;    in  peril  from  the  weather,  in 

IM?ril  from  wild  l>oasts,  in  peril  from 
iun;,'er,  friendless  and  penniless,  in  a 
I  stran;:e  laud,  and  not  half-way  t4 
i  Rome, 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


177 


CHAPTER  XXXVni. 

Rude  travel  is  enticing  to  us  Eng- 
lish. And  so  are  its  records,  even 
tliough  the  adventurer  be  no  pilgrim 
of  love.  And  antique  friendship  has 
at  least  the  interest  of  a  fossil.  Still, 
as  the  true  centre  of  this  story  is  in 
Holland,  it  is  full  time  to  return 
thither,  and  to  those  ordinary  person- 
ages and  incidents  whereof  life  has 
been  mainly  composed  in  all  ages. 

Jorian  Ketel  came  to  Peter's  house 
to  claim  Margaret's  promise ;  but 
Margaret  was  ill  in  bed,  and  Peter,  on 
hearing  his  errand,  affronted  him,  and 
warned  him  off  the  premises,  and  one 
or  two  that  stood  by  were  for  ducking 
him ;  for  both  father  and  daughter 
were  favorites,  and  the  whole  storj' 
was  in  every  mouth,  and  the  Seven- 
bcrgans  in  that  state  of  hot,  undis- 
criminating  irritation  which  accompa- 
nies popular  sympathy. 

So  Jorian  Ketel  went  off  in  dud- 
geon, and  repented  him  of  his  good 
deed.  This  sort  of  penitence  is  not 
rare,  and  has  the  merit  of  being  sin- 
cere. Dierich  Brower,  who  was  dis- 
covered at  "  The  Three  Kings,"  mak- 
ing a  chatterbox  drunk  in  order  to 
worm  out  of  him  the  whereabouts  of 
Martin  Wittcnhaagen,  was  actually 
taken  and  flung  into  a  horse-pond, 
and  threatened  with  worse  usage 
should  he  ever  show  his  face  in  the 
burgh  again ;  and  finally,  municipal 
jealousy  being  roused,  the  burgomas- 
ter of  Sevenbergen  sent  a  formal  mis- 
sive to  the  burgomaster  of  Tergou,  re- 
minding him  he  had  overstepped  the 
law,  and  requesting  him  to  apply  to 
the  authorities  of  Sevenbergen  on  any 
future  occasion  when  he  might  have 
a  complaint,  real  or  imaginary,  against 
any  of  its  townfolk. 

The  wily  Ghysbrccht,  suppressing 
his  rage  at  this  remonstrance,  sent 
back  a  civil  message  to  say  that  the 
person  he  had  followed  to  Sevenber- 
gen was  a  Tergovan,  one  Gerard,  and 
that  he  had  stolen  the  tovm  records ; 
that  Gerard  having  escaped  into  for- 
eign parts,  and  probably  taken   the 


documents  with  him,  the  whole  m^« 
ter  was  at  an  end. 

Thus  he  made  a  virtue  of  neces- 
sity. But  in  reality  his  calmness  was 
but  a  veil ;  baffled  at  Sevenbergen,  he 
turned  his  views  elsewhere ;  he  set  his 
emissaries  to  leam  from  the  family  at 
Tergou  whither  Gerard  had  fled,  and 
"  to  his  infinite  surprise  "  they  did  not 
know.  This  added  to  his  uneasiness. 
It  made  him  fear  Gerard  was  only 
lurking  in  the  neighborhood ;  he 
would  make  a  certain  discovery,  and 
would  come  back  and  take  a  terrible 
revenge.  From  this  time  Dierich  and 
others  that  were  about  him  noticed  a 
change  for  the  worse  in  Ghysbrccht 
Van  Swieten.  He  became  a  moody, 
irritable  man.  A  dread  lay  on  him. 
His  eyes  cast  furtive  glances,  like  one 
who  expects  a  blow  and  knows  not 
from  what  quarter  it  is  to  come. 
Making  others  wretched  had  not 
made  him  happy.     It  seldom  does. 

The  little  f;imily  at  Tergou,  which, 
but  for  his  violent  interference,  might 
in  time  have  cemented  its  diiference 
without  banishing  spem  gregis  to  a 
distant  land,  wore  still  the  same 
outward  features,  but  within  was  no 
longer  the  simple  happy  family  this 
tale  opened  with.  Little  Kate  knew 
the  share  Cornelis  and  Sybrandt  had 
in  banishing  Gerard,  and  though,  for 
fear  of  making  more  mischief  still, 
she  never  told  her  mother,  yet  there 
were  times  she  shuddered  at  the  bare 
sight  of  them,  and  blushed  at  their 
hypocritical  regrets.  Catherine,  with 
a  woman's  vigilance,  noticed  this,  and, 
with  a  woman's  subtlety,  said  nothing, 
but  quietly  pondered  it  and  went  on 
watching  for  more.  The  black  sheep 
themselves,  in  their  efforts  to  partake 
in  the  general  gloom  and  sorrow,  suc- 
ceeded so  far  as  to  impose  upon  their 
father  and  Giles  ;  but  the  demure  sat- 
isfaction that  lay  at  their  bottom  could 
not  escape  these  feminine  eyes,  — 

"  That,  noting  all,  seemed  naught  to  note." 

Thus  mistrust  and  suspicion  sat  at 
the  table,  poor  substitutes  for  Gerard's 
intelligent  face,  that  had  brightened 


178 


THK  CLOISTEK   ANl»   TMK   HKAHTH. 


t^  wholo  circle,   unoW'n-wl   till   it 

Will  u'"!!.-      As  tur  the  i»|i|  tii><«irr,  hi« 

I  '-fii  wouiiiKmI  I>v  lu.t  Mm's 

■  ,  uml    »o    111-   i<t>r*'   "fitHy 

llj',    .nil    'llll    111*   l«'?lt   II' 

( iiT.ir<r<i  inline  ;  tiut 
S;   irt;UI   clonk  N  ■••■"■ 
;        Miij    nt    hiH 
.1:1  Ml  ty  ht'  iirvrr 

■'  ll    I    l>ut    kiH'w    wli.f*'    til.     !».»     i-, 
lui'l  that  hi*  lifv  nml  ht-allh  iin>  111  u» 
•  I  I        r.    umall    wuiiM    \n-    n 
I   he  say  ;  hiu!  then  u 

A...,..l    follttw.      I   riiliiiot   h<.| > 

ill;;,  that,  if  (icrunl  hii<l  kjmiumI  tho 
tli«»r  lu.tt  then  ivml  wwlkul  in.  then- 
woiilii  have  tMi-n  iimny  tcart  and  rni- 
brni-fit  fur  him,  anti  fow  rv|>mnihc»,  or 
iiont'. 

Oiu<  thinj;  took  ihcolil  cnu]il(<  i|iiili> 
l>y  Miir|>rit<'.  —  |>tiMi>ify.  Kn-  (ii-runl 
linil  l"iii  ;:>iii>'  11  \\'  I  k,  hit  nilvi'iitiiroi 
wvrr  in  csitn  iiiniitli  ;  nnil,  to  innki- 
miitt«T!«  wurxf,  iho  |M)|>uUr  symiiothy 
fJiclnnMl  itvlf  wnrinly  on  tho  »iilo  of 
the  I'lMT*.  nml  n;;iiiiitt  (ivrnnl"-*  crur! 
ininnt.H  nml  that  old  hu\v)i<Miy,  the 
hiir^uiniiHtcr,  "  who  inn^t  |>ut  hit  iiom* 
into  n  hu.HincA5  that  nowi.M.*  conccnutl 
hini." 

"  Mother,"  snid  Kate,  "  it  i*  all 
over  the  town  that  Mar;;nret  ii  down 
with  n  fi-ver,  —  n  hiirninj;  fever  ;  her 
father  feam  her  sadly." 

'•  Maru'ant  '  what  Mar;,'arrt  '  "  in- 
quired Catherine,  witli  a  treaelieroii!) 
as-tiiinption  nf  calmncsa  and  inditfcr- 
enee. 

■•  ()  motlier!  whom  •ihonlil  I  in<>nn  ' 
Why.  (Jemrd's  Marjjaret." 

"  CJerard's    Mnr;raret !  "    serrained 
Catherine  ;  "  how  (lare  yon  .say  .^iirh 
a  wonl  to  me  '    And  I  n-de  you  never  ' 
mention    that    hussy '.s   name   in   this  ' 
house  that  she  has  laid  hare.      She  is  j 
the  niin  of  my  jxior  l>ov,  the  flower 
of  all  my  tlin-k.    She  is  the  eau.se  that 
he  is  not  a  lioly  priest  in  the  midst  of 
us,  but  is  roaming   the  world,  and  I 
a    desolate,    hroken-liearted     mother.  ' 
There,  ilo  not  cry,  ray  pirl,  I  <lo  ill  to 
speak  harsh  to  you.      But,  f )   Kate,  1 
you    know-    not    what    passes    in    a ; 


I  inother'H  heart.     I  licnr  tip  ln-fon-  jro« 

'  nil  ;  It  Uhoo*)-!!  me  »wnllow  my  fean  ; 

hut  at  iii;;lit  I  m-v  him  in  my  drt-am*, 

and  •lill  Mune  tn>uhle  or  other  near 

'  iime«  he   in   U>n\  liv   wild 

.<  r  timet  he  in  ill  I  he  han«U 

■■  ■'  ■'■■•- 1  I >  U|>- 

that 

r.mp. 

(',    w  hfii    1    rviiifiiilifr    that,   while    I 

•tt  h<'r»'  in  eomfurt.  |H'rhn|M  my  iioor 

ti   Miine  wivnt'e  plurt', 

that  jjirl  ;   iherr.  her 

■  ■..   .,...,,.   .    ..li^lMine  to  me.     1  trvni- 

hie  nil  ov«r  when  I  hear  it." 

"  I  'II  m>t  «ay  anything,  nor  do  tnr- 

thintr.  ti>  j;rieve  you  wor-M-.  inothrr." 

.Haiti  Kate,  tenderly  ;  hut  »he  "li^hrd. 

I       She   w  ho<M'    nnme    was    mi   fien-elv 

inierdietett  in  thi.n    hou.n;    wnn  inueK 

!>|«>ki *'    ■•   '    -M-n  pitied,  elri'where. 

All    ^  I   wat  sorry  for   her, 

and  (  "ii-n  nml  maiden<t  eaMt 

many  n  pit_\  111^  clanee.  n.'»  they  pn.fKtl, 
at  the  little  wjmlow  where  the  U-autv 
of  the  \illni;e  lay  "dyini;  for  love' 
In  this  familiar  phrHM-  thev  under- 
rated Imt  tfiirit  nml  un<u-lfi<hnc)i]i. 
(ieranl  wnn  not  deml.  nml  ^hc  wm 
too  loyal  herM-lf  to  dotiht  hi*  con- 
stniiev.  Her  father  wim  dear  to  her 
and  )ielple.<i.*  ;  ami,  hut  for  tiodily 
wi-nknejw,  all  her  love  fi>r  (Jeranl 
would  not  have  kept  her  fmm  doinij 
her  iluties.  though  .she  mi;;ht  have 
piiu'  alxiut  them  with  droo{>inp  head 
and  hen\y  heart.  Hut  physical  and 
mental  excitement  had  hniujjht  on 
an  atliuk  of  fever  m>  violent  that 
nothing  hut  vouth  and  eimstitution 
saviil  licr.  The  malady  left  her  at 
last,  hut  in  that  tcrrihie  utate  of  l>o<li- 
ly  weaknes.s  in  which  the  patient  feels 
life  a  luinlen. 

Then  it  is  that  love  and  friendship 
by  the  l)0<lside  arc  mortal  nn^'els.  w  itfi 
comfort  in  their  voices  and  healinj;  in 
their  jialms. 

Hut  this  poor  jrirl  hail  to  come 
back  to  life  and  vifror  how  she  could 
Many  days  she  lay  alone,  and  the 
heavy  hours  rolled  like  leaden  wavca 
over  her.  In  her  enfoeblcfl  state  ex 
istence  seemed  a  bunlen,    and  life  a 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


179 


thing  gone  by.  She  could  not  try 
her  best  to  get  well.  Gerai'd  was 
gone.  She  had  not  him  to  get  well 
for.  Often  she  lay  for  hours  quite 
still,  with  the  tears  welling  gently  out 
of  her  eyes. 

One  day,  waking  from  an  uneasy 
slumber,  she  found  two  women  in  her 
room.  One  was  a  servant;  the  other, 
by  the  deep  fur  on  her  collar  and 
sleeves,  was  a  person  of  consideration ; 
a  narrow  band  of  silvery  hair,  being 
spared  by  her  coiffure,  showed  her  to 
be  past  the  age  when  women  of  sense 
conceal  their  years.  The  looks  of 
both  were  kind  and  friendly.  Mar- 
garet tried  to  raise  herself  in  the  bed, 
but  the  old  lady  placed  a  hand  very 
gently  on  her. 

"Lie  still,  sweetheart;  we  came 
not  here  to  put  you  about,  but  to 
comfort  you,  God  willing.  Now 
cheer  up  a  bit,  and  tell  us,  first,  who 
think  you  we  are  1 " 

"  Nay,  madam,  I  know  you,  though 
I  never  saw  you  before  :  you  arc  the 
demoiselle  Van  Eyck,  and  this  is 
Richt  Heynes.  Gerard  has  oft  spoken 
of  you,  and  of  your  goodness  to  him. 
Madam,  he  has  no  friend  like  you 
near  him  now  "  ;  and  at  this  thought 
she  lay  back,  and  the  tears  welled  out 
of  her  eyes  in  a  moment. 

The  good-natured  Kicht  Heynes 
began  to  cry  for  company  ;  but  her 
mistress  scolded  her.  "  ^Vell,  you 
are  a  pretty  one  for  a  sick-room," 
said  she  :  and  she  put  out  a  world  of 
innocent  art  to  cheer  the  patient ;  and 
not  without  some  little  success.  An 
old  woman,  that  has  seen  life  and  all 
its  troubles,  is  a  sovereign  blessing  by  a 
sorrowful  young  woman's  side.  She 
knows  what  to  say  and  what  to  avoid. 
She  knows  how  to  soothe  her  and  in- 
terest her.  Ere  she  had  been  there 
an  hour,  she  had  Margaret's  head  ly- 
ing on  her  shoulder  instead  of  on  the 
pillow,  and  Margaret's  soft  eyes  dwell- 
ing on  her  with  gentle  gratitude. 

"  Ah',  this  is  hair,"  said  the  old 
lady,  running  her  fingers  through  it. 
"  Come  and  look  at  it,  Richt !  " 

Richt  came   and   handled  it,  and 


praised  it  unaffectedly.  The  poof 
girl  that  owned  it  was  not  quite  out 
of  the  reach  of  flattery  ;  owing  doubt- 
less to  not  being  dead. 

'■  In  sooth,  madam,  I  did  use  to 
think  it  hideous  :  but  lie  praised  it, 
and  ever  since  then  I  have  been  al- 
most vain  of  it,  saints  forgive  me. 
You  know  how  foolish  those  are  that 
love. 

"  They  are  greater  fools  that  don't," 
said  the  old  lady,  sharply. 

Margaret  opened  her  lovely  eyes, 
and  looked  at  her  for  her  meaning. 

This  was  only  the  first  of  many 
visits.  In  fact,  either  Margaret  Van 
Eyck  or  Richt  came  nearly  every 
day  until  their  patient  was  convales- 
cent :  and  she  improved  rapidly  un- 
der their  hands.  Richt  attributed 
this  principally  to  certain  nourishing 
dishes  she  prepared  in  Peter's  kitchen, 
but  Margaret  herself  thought  more  of 
the  kind  words  and  eyes  that  kept  tell- 
ing her  she  had  friends  to  live  for. 

Martin  Wittcnhaagen  went  straight 
to  Rotterdam,  to  take  the  bull  by  the 
horns.  The  bull  was  a  biped,  with 
a  crown  for  horns.  It  was  Philip 
the  Good,  duke  of  this,  earl  of  that, 
lord  of  the  other.  Arrived  at  Rotter- 
dam, Martin  found  the  court  was  at 
Ghent.  To  Ghent  he  went,  and 
sought  an  audience,  but  was  put  off 
and  baffled  by  lackeys  and  pages. 
So  he  threw  himself  in  his  sovereign's 
way  out  hunting,  and,  contrary  to  all 
court  precedents,  commenced  the  con- 
versation, —  by  roaring  lustily  for 
mercy. 

"  Why,  where  is  the  peril,  man  ?  " 
said  the  duke,  looking  all  round  and 
laughing. 

"  Grace  for  an  old  soldier  hunted 
down  by  burghers." 

Now  kings  differ  in  character  like 
other  folk  ;  but  there  is  one  trait  they 
hare  in  common  ;  they  are  mightily 
inclined  to  be  affable  "to  men  of  very 
low  estate.  These  do  not  vie  wih 
them  in  anything  whatever,  so  jeal- 
ousy cannot  creep  in ;  and  they 
amuse  them  by  their  bluntness  and 


180 


THE   CLOlSTKIt    AND   TRK   UKAKTH. 


novfltr,  anil  n-fn«h  the  pour  tiling 
with  II  tuiK  h  >'(  iiiiturr,  —  m  raritv  in 
courts.     S«i  I'hilip  llic  (mmmI  iviiu'd  ill 


hi*  hoFM?  mill    I'livt'   Murtin    bIiikkI  a  i  What  v\m'  '  " 


••<),  ihc  huntc«l  U<ar  will  turn  M 
bar.  'T  i.*  his  ri^ht  ;  atxl  I  holtl  hiiq 
lfs.4  than   man   that  ^udt;va  it 


■  t'  It.  ' 


M 


1  hr    (hike    rfnieiiit»Ti"<l 
•It    iM-rfivtly,   anil    wiw  trr.t 

i.liu.MHl  |i>  tnkr  a  i-hi-t-rl'iii  \ 
If  rouhl  atFiTil  tn   ni>t  hu 

M 


hv 
I  t)u> 


Uin  tin'  om-   hit.      '11 

hiH    Mttj«-<l_v   of  (trrar 

ill    the    rhiin-h,  hi«   m 

till-    (iiwiT,    ami    ihr 

whii  h    tlirv    K<it    hint 

<li-tiiiN  i>f  the  hunt:  un>l,  ulittiitr  h<- 

txhl  It  Ix'itcr  than  I  have,  or  iho  ilnk-- 

huil   not  hrunl   mi  inaiiy  K"" 

UN  you  hu\i',  riTtuiii    it    ii    i 

»"ik'»  U'"'  ■■">  wrapt  ii|>  ii'  ■'    ' 

u  iiuiiiImt  of  roiirlKr^ 

nil  mill  intiTruptt'tl  M 

liki'  a  ('<i<ttcrnioni;«-r,  aiiil  ihri-nlciutl, 

only  liulf  in  jo^tt,  to  rut   ofT  the  next 

hriul    thiit   xhouhl   roinc  iM'twit-n  him 

mill  a  itihmI  <itory  ;  and  whi-n  Martin 

luul  <|4)iii\  ho  rri»-«l  out :  — 

"  St.  I.iiki- !  what  sjxirt  j^ooth  on  in 
thin  inini'  rurliloin  !  ay,  in  my  own 
\v(hm|h,  and  I  >t«i'  it  not.  You  hnM' 
fiJlowH  have  all  the  luck."  An<l  In* 
wnn  indi;;iiant  at  tho  |tartinliiy  of 
Kortiinr.  "  I..O,  you  now  !  thin  wa.*  a 
timii'hiint,"  naiil  he.  "  /  ni-viT  liait 
tlir  lurk  tu  Ih>  at  a  iiinn-hunt." 

"  Mv  luck  wa.«  none  .to  irn^nt,"  rr- 
plird  SLirtiii,  hluntly  ;  "  I  was  on  the 
wroiii;  siiU'of  thf  tloj;*'  noM'^." 

"  Ah  !  so  you  wen- :  I  forgot  that." 
And  n>yaltv  wa.s  niorv  nt-onrilitl  to 
its  lot.      ■•  \Vlmt    would   vou   tlirn  '  " 

'•  A  frci-  piirdoii.  vour  iii;;hnc»s,  for 
mys«lf  and  (itnird. 

"  For  what  '  " 

"For  prison-hronkinjj." 

"  Go  to  :  thf  hird  w  ill  fly  from  the 
cajje.  'T  is  instinct.  Bisidi-s,  coop 
a  younjj  man  up  for  lovin;:  a  youn>; 
wimmn  '  those  l)tir;;oniastors  must 
l>e  VI  lid  of  common  sonso.  What 
d-so  ' 

"  For  striking  down  the  burgo- 
maatei." 


■  •      "  •■ .M'U." 

i    —     «Aid 

Martin,  ••ap-rlv. 

'■  Ay !  but  (  can't  hare  mv  blood- 
'   U,    my    ticniitiful    blo<x(hound«, 
Kill  to' —  " 

•    ',    no!      Thcjr    were    not 

\'' d«>tj«,  tlwn  ?  " 

"  'I'ho  ranpT'n." 

"  Oh  !     Well,  I  am   rcrr  iorry  for 

him,  hut,  a*    I   wait    »ayin(;.    I  can't 

hnvo  niy  old  ituldiom  sacrificrd  to  hi* 

!h.     Thou   »lialt   have  thy 

.;..  .  j..>or  ftorard  '  " 
"And  jMMir  ( iiTurd  too,  for  thjr 
«ak<'.  And  tiioro,  Irll  thi>u  thin  bur- 
KomoAtcr  hi«  tloiii^<  mixlikc  mc  :  thii 
i«  to  Mt  nil  for  a  kin(;,  not  a  huri;o- 
miutrr.  I  II  have  no  king"  in  lIoW 
land  but  ono.  Hid  him  l>o  more 
humble,  or,  by  St.  .Iinlr,  ]  'II  han|; 
him  Im  Ion-  bin  omii  dinir,  n.t  I  hanp^l 
the  burpima'^ter  of  wbai'i  tho-namr, 

—  iMunc  town  or  other  in  Flaiidcri  it 
wiu  :  no,  't  wiiA  Mimewhere  in  Itrnliant 

—  no  mutter  —  1  han^tnl  him,  I  rv- 
momUr  that  much  —  for  oppri»itinu 
|>oor  folk." 

The  duke  then  iMfkoneil  his 
ohani-eUor.  a  i»un.y  old  follow  that 
nxle  like  a  Hack,  and  bade  him  write 
out  a  frev  |>anlon  for  Murtin  and  one 
( ieranl. 

This  prociou*  document  wa.«  drawn 
up  in  form,  and  .«i(rne«l  next  day,  and 
.Nlnrtin  hastened   homo  with  it. 

Mnr;;an't  had  left  her  l>c<l  some 
days,  and  was  sitting  pale  and  jH-nsivo 
by  the  firrside,  when  he  burst  in,  war- 
ing the  parchment  and  crying:  "A 
free  j)anion,  ^'irl,  for  (Jcrard  as  well 
as  mc  !  S«'nd  for  him  back  when  you 
will ;  all  the  bur;:oina.sters  on  earth 
darv^n't  lay  a  fintror  on  him." 

She  tliished  all  over  with  joy,  and 
her  hands  trembled  with  eagerness  a* 
she  took  the  parchment  and  devoured 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


181 


it  with  her  eyes,  and  kissed  it  again 
and  again,  and  flung  her  arms  round 
Martin's  neck  and  kissed  him.  When 
she  was  calmer,  she  told  him  Heaven 
had  raised  her  up  a  friend  in  the  dame 
Van  Eyck.  "  And  I  would  fain  con- 
sult her  on  this  good  news  ;  but  I 
have  not  strength  to  walk  so  far." 

"  What  need  to  walk  ?  There  is 
my  mule." 

""  Your  mule,  Martin  ?  " 

The  old  soldier  or  professional  pil- 
lager laughed,  and  confessed  he  had 
got  so  used  to  her  that  he  forgot  at 
times  Ghysbrecht  had  a  prior  claim. 
To-morrow  he  would  turn  her  into 
the  burgomaster's  yard,  but  to-night 
she  should  carry  Margaret  to  Tergou. 

It  was  nearly  dusk,  so  Margaret 
ventured,  and  about  seven  in  the  even- 
ing she  astonished  and  gladdened  her 
new  but  ardent  friend  by  arriving  at 
her  house  with  unwonted  roses  on  her 
cheeks,  and  Gerard's  pardon  in  her 
bosom. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

Some  arc  old  in  heart  at  forty, 
i!ome  are  young  at  eighty.  Margaret 
Van  Eyck's  heart  was  an  evergreen. 
She  loved  her  young  namesake  with 
youthful  ardor.  Nor  was  this  new 
sentiment  a  mere  caprice ;  she  was 
quick  at  reading  character,  and  saw 
in  Margaret  Brandt  that  which  in  one 
of  her  own  sex  goes  far  with  an  intel- 
ligent woman,  —  genuineness.  But, 
besides  her  own  sterling  qualities, 
Margaret  had  from  the  first  a  potent 
ally  in  the  old  artist's  bosom. 

Human  nature. 

Strange  as  it  may  appear  to  the 
unobservant,  our  hearts  warm  more 
readily  to  those  we  have  benefited 
than  to  our  benefactors.  Some  of 
the  Greek  philosophers  noticed  this  ; 
but  the  British  Homer  has  stamped  it 
in  immortal  lines  :  — 

"  I  heard,  and  thought  how  side  by  side 
We  two  had  stemmed  the  battle's  tide 
In  many  a  well -debated  field,  ; 

Where  Bertram's  breast  was  Philip's  shield. 


I  thought  on  Darien's  deserts  pale, 
Where  Death  bestrides  the  evening  gale, 
How  o'er  my  friend  my  cloak  I  threw, 
And  fenceless  faced  the  deadly  dew. 
I  thought  on  Quariana's  cliff, 
Where,  rescued  from  our  foundering  skiff, 
Through  the  white  breakers'  wrath  I  bore 
Exhausted  Mortham  to  the  shore  ; 
And  when  his  side  an  arrow  found, 
I  sucked  the  Indian's  veuomej  wound. 
These  thoughts  like  torrents  rushed  along 
To  sweep  away  my  purpose  strong." 

Observe !  this  assassin's  hand  is 
stayed  by  memory,  not  of  benefits  re- 
ceived, but  benefits  conferred. 

Now  Margaret  Van  Eyck  had  been 
wonderfully  kind  to  Margaret  Brandt ; 
had  broken  through  her  own  habits 
to  go  and  see  her ;  had  nursed  her, 
and  soothed  her,  and  petted  her,  and 
cured  her  more  than  all  the  medicine 
in  the  world.  So  her  heart  opened  to 
the  recipient  of  her  goodness,  and  she 
loved  her  now  for  more  tenderly  than 
she  had  ever  loved  Gerard,  though,  in 
truth,  it  was  purely  out  of  regard  for 
Gerard  she  had  visited  her  in  the  first 
instance. 

When,  therefore,  she  saw  the  roses 
on  Margaret's  cheek,  and  read  the  bit 
of  parchment  that  had  brought  them 
there,  she  gave  up  her  own  views  with- 
out a  murmur. 

"  Sweetheart,"  said  she,  "  I  did  de- 
sire he  should  stay  in  Italy  five  or  six 
years,  and  come  back  rich,  and,  above 
all,  an  artist.  But  your  happiness  is 
before  all,  and  I  see  you  cannot  live 
without  him,  so  we  must  have  him 
home  as  fast  as  may  be." 

"  Ah,  madam !  you  see  my  very 
thoughts."  And  the  young  woman 
hung  her  head  a  moment,  and  blushed. 
"  But  how  to  let  him  know,  madam  ? 
That  passes  my  skill.  He  is  gone  to 
Italy,  but  what  part,  that  I  know  not. 
Stay  !  he  named  the  cities  he  should 
visit.  Florence  was  one,  and  Rome. 
But  then  —  " 

Finally,  being  a  sensible  girl,  she 
divined  that  a  letter  addressed  "  My 
Gerard  —  Italy,"  might  chance  to 
miscarry,  and  she  looked  imploringly 
at  her  friend  for  counsel. 

"  You  are  come  to  the  right  place, 
and  at  the  right  time,"  said  the  ol(] 


!82 


Tin:  cLOisiKU  and  thk  iitAurn. 


liuly.  "IIiTo  was  this  Hans  Meni- 
ViU'^  with  iiir  to-day  ;  he  is  poinj;  to  It- 
aly, j.'irl,  no  hitiT  than  next  week, 
'  to  im|)rove  iiis  huml,'  he  says.  Not 
hctbre  't  was  needed,  I  do  assure 
yon." 

"  Hilt  how  is  lie  to  find  niv  Ge- 
rard <  " 

"  Whv,  he  knows  yonr  Gerard, 
<hiid.  riiey  have  siipiK-d  lu-re  more 
than  once,  and  were  like  hand  and 
|;love.  Now,  as  his  business  is  the 
*.anie  as  Gerard's  —  " 

"  What,  he  is  a  painter  then  ?  " 

"  lie  passes  fur  one.  He  will  visit 
tlie  same  places  as  (ierard,  and,  s(H>n 
or  late,  Iw  mnst  fall  in  with  him. 
Wherefore,  jret  you  ti  Ion;,'  letter  writ- 
ten, anil  eopy  out  this  pardon  iiit<)  it, 
and  I  'II  answer  for  the  inesseiij^er. 
In  si.\  months  at  farthest  Gerard 
shall  ^'et  it,  and,  when  he  .shall  j;et  it, 
then  will  \w  kiss  it,  and  |)Ut  it  in  his 
Ijosom,  anilcoiin-  flyiniL'  home.  What 
are  you  sniilin;:  at  ?  and  now  what 
makes  your  elieeks  so  red  ?  and 
what  you  are  smotherin;:  me  for,  I 
eaiiiiot  think  ;  yes  !  ha|i|>y  days  arc 
eoiniii;;  to  my  little  jK-arl." 

Meantime,  Martin  sat  in  the  kitch- 
en, with  the  hiack-jack  l>efore  him 
antl  Uieht  Ih-ynes  s|)inniiig  beside 
him  ;  and,  wow  !  but  she  pumjR-d 
him    that    ni;;lit. 

This  Han.'*  Memliii;,'  was  an  old 
pupil  of  Jan  Van  I'.yck  and  his  sister. 
He  was  a  painter,  notwithstanding: 
Mar^raret's  sneer,  and  a  ^'ood  soul 
cnon;:h,  with  one  fault.  He  loved  the 
"  ni|>perkin,  caiiakin,  and  the  brown 
bowl  "  more  than  tliey  deserve.  This 
sin^^ular  penchant  kept  him  from 
amassing  fortune,  and  was  the  cause 
that  he  often  came  to  MarL'aret  Van 
Eyck  for  a  meal,  and  sometimes  for  a 
jrroat.  But  this  fravc  her  a  claim  on 
him,  and  she  knew  he  would  not  tri- 
fle witli  any  commission  she  should 
intnist  to  him. 

The  letter  was  duly  written,  and 
left  with  Margaret  Van  Eyck  ;  and, 
the  following  week,  sure  enough, 
Hans  Memlii)g  returned  from  Flan- 


ders. Margaivt  ^'an  Eyck  gave  him 
the  letter,  and  a  piire  of  gold  towards 
his  travelling  e.\f>en.ses.  He  scemod 
in  a  litirrv  to  Iw  off. 

"  All  the  Utter,"  said  the  old  art- 
ist ;  "  he  will  Iw  the  sooner  in  Italy." 

Hut  as  there  are  horses  who  burn 
and  rage  to  start,  and  after  the  first 
vard  or  two  want  the  whip,  so  all  this 
linrry  cooled  into  iiiactifjti  when  Hans 
got  as  far  as  the  principal  hostelry  of 
Tergou,  and  saw  two  of  his  lKX)n 
companions  sitting  in  the  bay-win- 
dow. He  wtiit  in  for  a  parting  glass 
with  them  ;  but.  when  he  offered   to 

1>ay,  they  would  not  hear  of  it.  No: 
le  was  going  a  long  journey  ;  they 
I  would  treiit  him  ;  everybody  must 
I  treat  him,  the  landlord  and  all. 

It  resulted  from  this  treatment  that 
,  his  tongue  got  as  loo.se  as  if  the  wine 
I  had  Ikcii  oil,  and  he  rontided  to  the 
convivial  crt-w  that  he  was  gt)ing  to 
show  the  Italians  how  to  paint ;  next 
he  sang  his  exploits  in  battle,  for  lie 
had  haiiclled  a  pike  ;  and  his  amorous 
successes  with  females,  not  j)resent  to 
opfKJse  their  version  of  the  incidents. 
In  short,  "  pleiuis  rimaruni  erat  :  liiir 
illuc  (litHuebat " ;  and,  among  the 
miscellaneous  matters  that  oo7.ed  out, 
he  must  blab  that  he  was  intrusted 
with  a  letter  to  a  townsman  <»f  theirs, 
one  (ierard,  a  good  fellow;  he  add- 
ed, "  You  are  all  good  fellows  "  ;  and, 
to  impress  his  eulogy,  slapped  Sy- 
brandt  on  the  back  so  heartily  as  to 
drive  the  breath  out  of  his  body. 

Sybrandt  got  round  the  table  to 
avoid  this  mu.sciilar  approval,  but 
listened  to  every  word,  and  learned 
for  the  first  time  that  Gerard  was 
gone  to  Italy.  However,  to  make 
sure,  he  affected  to  doubt  it. 

"  Mv  brother  Gerard  is  never  in 
Italy.'' 

"  Ye  lie,  ye  cur,"  roared  Hans,  tak- 
ing instantly  the  irascible  turn,  and 
not  being  clear  enough  to  sec  that  he 
who  now  sat  opposite  to  him  was  the 
same  he  had  praised,  and  hit,  when 
beside  him.  "  If  he  is  ten  times  your 
brother,  he  is  in  Italy.  What  call  yc 
this?     There,  read  me  that  8upei> 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


183 


Bcription  !  "  and  he  flung  down  a  let- 
ter on  the  table. 

Sybrandt  took  it  np,  and  examined 
it  gravely ;  but  eventually  laid  it 
down,  with  tue  remark  that  he  could 
not  read.  However,  one  of  the  com- 
pany, by  some  immense  fortuity, 
could  read  ;  and,  proud  of  so  rare  an 
accomplishment  took  it  and  read  it 
out :  "  To  Gerard  Eliassoen,  of  Ter- 
gou.  These  by  the  hand  of  the  trusty 
Hans  Memling,  with  all  speed." 

"  'T  is  excellently  well  writ,"  said 
the  reader,  examining  every  letter. 

"Ay,"  said  Hans,  bombastically, 
"  and  small  wonder  :  't  is  writ  by  a 
famous  hand  ;  by  Margaret,  sister  of 
Jan  Van  Eyck.  Blessed  and  hon- 
ored be  his  memory  !  She  is  an 
old  friend  of  mine,  is  Margaret  Van 
Eyck." 

Miscellaneous  Hans  then  diverged 
into  forty  topics. 

Sybrandt  stole  out  of  the  company, 
and  went  in  search  of  Cornells. 

They  put  their  heads  together 
over  the  news.  Italy  was  an  im- 
mense distance  off.  If  they  could 
only  keep  him  there  ? 

"  Keep  him  there  ?  Nothing  would 
keep  him  long  from  his  Margaret." 

"  Curse  her  !  "  said  Sybrandt. 
"  "VVhy  did  n't  she  die  when  she  was 
about  it  ? " 

"  She  die  ?  She  would  outlive  the 
pest  to  vex  us."  And  Comelis  was 
wroth  at  her  selfishness  in  not  dying, 
to  oblige. 

These  two  black  sheep  kept  putting 
their  heads  together,  and  tainting 
each  other  worse  and  worse,  till  at 
last  their  coiTupt  hearts  conceived  a 
plan  for  keeping  Gerard  in  Italy  all 
his  life,  and  so  securing  his  share  of 
their  father's  substance. 

But  when  they  had  planned  it  they 
were  no  nearer  the  execution;  for 
that  required  talent ;  so  iniquity  came 
to  a  stand-still.  But  presently,  as  if 
Satan  had  come  between  the  two 
heads,  and  whispered  into  the  right 
car  of  one  and  the  left  of  the  other  si- 
multaneously, they  both  burst  out,  — 

"  THE  BtJRGOMASTEll ! " 


They  went  to  Ghysbrecht  Van 
Swieten,  and  he  received  them  at 
once ;  for  the  man  who  is  under  the 
torture  of  suspense  catches  eagerly  at 
knowledge.  Certainty  is  often  painful, 
but  seldom,  like  suspense,  intolerable. 

"  You  have  news  of  GcJrard  1 "  said 
he,  eagerly. 

Then  they  told  him  about  the  letter 
and  Hans  Memling.  He  listened 
with  restless  eye.  "  Who  writ  the 
letter  1  " 

"  Margaret  Van  Eyck,"  was  the  re- 
ply ;  for  they  naturally  thought  the 
contents  were  by  the  same  hand  as 
the  superscription. 

"  Are  ye  sure  ?  "  And  he  went  to 
a  drawer  and  drew  out  a  paper  writ- 
ten by  Margaret  Van  Eyck  while 
treating  \vith  the  burgh  for  her  house. 
"  Was  it  writ  like  this  ?  " 

"  Yes.  'T  is  the  same  writing," 
said  Sybrandt,  boldly. 

"  Good.  And  now  what  would  ye 
of  me  ?  "  said  Ghysbrecht,  with  beat- 
ing heart,  but  a  carelessness  so  well 
feigned  that  it  staggered  them.  They 
fumbled  with  their  bonnets,  and  stam- 
mered and  spoke  a  word  or  two,  then 
hesitated  and  beat  about  the  bush,  and 
let  out  by  degrees  that  they  wanted  a 
letter  written,  to  say  something  that 
might  keep  Gerard  in  Italy  ;  and  this 
letter  they  proposed  to  substitute  in 
Hans  Memling  s  wallet  for  the  one  he 
carried.  While  these  fumbled  with 
their  bonnets  and  their  iniquity,  and 
vacillated  between  respect  for  a  bur- 
gomaster and  suspicion  that  this  one 
was  as  great  a  rogue  as  themselves, 
and,  somehow  or  other,  on  their  side 
against  Gerard,  pros  and  cons  were 
coursing  one  another  to  and  fro  in 
the  keen  old  man's  spirit.  Vengeance 
said,  let  Gerard  come  back  and  feel 
the  weight  of  the  law.  Prudence 
said,  keep  him  a  thousand  miles  off. 
But  then  prudence  said  also,  Why  do 
dirty  work  on  a  doubtful  chance  ? 
Why  put  it  in  the  power  of  these  two 
rogues  to  tarnish  your  name  ?  Finally, 
his  strong  persuasion  that  Gerard  was 
in  possession  of  a  secret  by  means  of 
which  he  could  wound   him  to  the 


184 


Tin:  cLoisTKH  anh  iiii;  iii.Ainii. 


fjuiik,  coupKd  witli  his  caution,  found  i 
wonis  thu-.  ;   "  It  is    my   iluty   to  aid  '< 
tin;  tiii/.iiis   that   lannot  write.     Hut 
for  their  inattir  1  will  not  be  rcsjKjn- 
sihlo.     Tell    lue,    then,    what  I  sliuJI 
writo." 

'•  Snniethiht'  aU>nt  this  Marj;nri-t." 
"  A_v,  ay  !  that  slu"  i.s  fiil.M',  that  >ho 
is  ntarrieii  to  anotlu-r,  I  'II  pi  l>ail." 

"Nay,  hurp)ina.>.ti.T,  nay!  not  for 
all  the  worM  !  "  rriwl  Sybmndt ; 
"  (ioraril  would  not  Udirve  it,  or  but 
nni-  half,  nml  tlu-n  \iv  would  conic 
haik  to  .s«H\     Say  that  !*he  ist  dend." 

••  iVad  !  what,  at  licr  u>,'0  ?  will  he 
rndit  that  '  " 

'■  S<M>nir  than  the  other.  Why,  she 
tnii  ntiirlif  ilcail  ;  m>  it  is  not  to  say  a 
d<>wuri;:ht  lie,  after  all." 

"  Iluiii|ih  '  And  you  think  that 
will  keep  him  in   Italy  ?  " 

"  We  are  nure  of  it,  —  are  we  not, 
Conielis  f  " 

"  Ay,"  .said  f'ornelis,  "  our  (Jcrnnl 
uill  never  leave  Italy,  now  he  i*  then-. 
It  was  always  his  dream  !•>  j;vt  there, 
lie  would  tome  baek  for  his  Marj:a- 
II  t,  but  not  for  us.  What  eares  he 
tor  us  ^  IIedes|iis<-s  his  own  family  ; 
nlwavs  did." 

"  'Vhis  would  \>c  a  bitter  pill  to 
him,"  said  the  old  hy|>«>»  rite.  "  It 
will  Ik-  for  his  ptxHl  in  the  en<l,"  rc- 
jdii'<l  the  younpone. 

•'  What  avails  Famine  wetlding 
Thirst  '  "  said  ("omelis. 

"  And  the  ^Tief  you  are  prrparinc 
furhim  soei)«)lly  >  "  (ihvsbrecht  spoke 
sarrastieally,  but  faste<l  his  own  ven- 
j^eanee  all  the  time. 

"  (),  a  lie  is  not  like  a  blow  with  a 
eurtal  axe.  It  hticks  no  He^h,  and 
breaks  no  Ixincs." 

"A  eurtal  a.\e  ?  "  said  Sybrandt ; 
"  no,  nor  even  like  a  strokt-  with  a 
cud;:el."  And  he  shot  a  sly  enven- 
omeil  jrlunec  at  the  burgoma.stcr's 
I  Token  no.-io. 

(Jhysbreiht's  face  darkene<l  with  ire 
when  this  ailder's  tongue  struck  his 
wountl.  But  it  told,  as  intended  ;  the 
old  imin  bristled  with  hate. 

'•  Well,"  said  he,  "  tell  me  what  to 
write  for  you,  and  I  must  write  it : 


but,  take  notice,  you  Ix-ar  the  blame 
if  au;,'lit  turns  anii-».  Not  the  hand 
which  writes,  but  the  ton;;ue  which 
tlictates,  doth  the  dee«l." 

Tho  brothers  assented  wamdj, 
sneering  within.  Ghysbrecht  then 
dn-w  his  inkhorn  towards  him,  and 
Inid  the  siM'«inun  of  Mariraret  Van 
Ky«k's  writinjj  Infore  him,  and  made 
sonie  in<|uirics  as  to  the  hizeaiul  shaj>c 
of  the  letter;  when  an  unlookid-for 
interruption  ix-cumtl  ;  Jorian  Ketel 
burst  hiLstily  into  the  nK>m,  and  looked 
vc.mhI  at  not  hndinc  him  alone. 

"  Thou  fu-«-st  I  have  matter  on 
hand,  >;o<mI  fellow." 

"  Ay,  but  this  is  prave.  1  bring 
(jo<>»l  news,  but  "t  is  not  for  every 
ear." 

The  bur^t)nuister  rose,  and  drew 
Jorian  iLsiile  into  the  endirasure  of 
his  deep  window,  and  then  the  broth- 
ers heard  th»-m  eonvers*'  in  low  but 
ea^cr  tones.  It  ended  by  (ihysbreeht 
sending  Jorian  out  to  saddle  his  mule, 
lie  then  aildnss4i|  the  black  sheep 
with  a  sudden  coldness  that  amazed 
them  :  — 

"  I  prize  the  peace  of  hoiischohU  ; 
but  this  is  not  a  thirty  to  U-  done  in  n 
hum* ;  we  will  see  al«>ut  it,  we  will 

SCI'.'' 

"  Hut,  burgomaster,  the  man  will 
U'  t;one.     It  will  l»e  too  late." 

"  Where  is  he  *  " 

"  At  the  hostelry,  drinking:." 

"  Well,  ke»  I)  him  drinkinj; !  Wc 
will  s<H?,  we  wdl  s<e."  And  he  .sent 
them  off  discomtited. 

To  explain  oil  this  we  must  rctro- 
prade  a  step.  This  vert-  mominp, 
then,  Mar^'aret  Brandt  had  met  Jo- 
rian Ketel  near  her  own  door.  He 
Itas.sed  her  with  a  scowl.  'I'his  struck 
icr,  and  she  rememl>ere<l  him. 

"  Stay,"  said  she.  "  Ves  !  it  is  the 
po«>d  man  who  sarcd  him.  O,  why 
hare  you  not  Iteen  near  me  since  1 
Ami  why  have  you  not  come  for  the 
parchments  ?  Was  it  not  true  about 
the  hundred  crowns  !  " 

Jorian  j:ave  a  snort ;  but.  secinp 
her  face  that  looked  so  candid,  began 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


185 


to  tliink  there  might  be  some  mistake. 
He  told  her  lie  liad  come,  and  how  he 
had  been  received. 

"  Alas  !  "  said  she,  "  I  knew  naught 
of  this.  Hay  at  Death's  door."  She 
then  invited  him  to  follow  her,  and 
took  him  into  the  garden  and  showed 
him  the  spot  where  the  parchments 
were  buried.  "  Martin  was  for  tak- 
ing them  up,  but  I  would  not  let  him. 
He  put  them  there,  and  I  said  none 
should  move  them  but  you,  who  had 
earned  them  so  well  of  him  and  me." 

"  Give  me  a  spade  !  "  cried  Jorian, 
eagerly.  "  But  stay  !  No  ;  he  is  a 
suspicious  man.  You.  are  sure  they 
are  there  still  ?  " 

"  I  will  openly  take  the  blame  if 
human  hand  hath  touched  them." 

"  Then  keep  them  but  two  hours 
more,  I  prithee,  good  Margaret,"  said 
Jorian,  and  ran  off  to  the  Stadthouse 
of  Tergou  a  joyful  man. 

The  burgomaster  jogged  along  to- 
wards Sevenbergen,  with  Jorian  strid- 
ing beside  him,  giving  him  assurance 
that  in  an  hour's  time  the  missing 
parchments  would  be  in  his  hand. 

"  Ah  !  master !  "  said  he,  "  lucky 
for  us  it  was  n't  a  thief  that  took 
them." 

"Not  a  thief?  not  a  thief?  what 
call  you  him  then  ? 

"  Well,  saving  your  presence,  I  call 
him  a  jackdaw.  This  is  jackdaw's 
work,  if  ever  there  was  ;  '  take  the 
thing  vou  are  least  in  need  of,  and 
hide  it,*^  that 's  a  jackdaw.  I  should 
know,"  added  Jorian,  oracularly,  "  for 
I  was  brought  up  along  with  a 
chough.  He  and  I  were  born  the 
same  year,  but  he  cut  his  teeth  long 
before  me,  and,  wow !  but  my  life 
was  a  burden  for  years  all  along  of 
him.  If  you  had  but  a  hole  in  your 
hose  no  bigger  than  a  groat,  in  went 
his  beak  like  a  gimlet ;  and,  for  steal- 
ing, Gerard  all  over..  What  he  want- 
ed least,  and  any  poor  Christian  in 
the  house  wanted  most,  that  went 
first.  jMother  was  a  notable  woman, 
so,  if  she  did  but  look  round,  away 
flew  her   tliimble.      Father  lived  by 


cordwaining,  so  about  sunrise  Jack 
went  diligently  off  with  his  awl,  his 
wax,  and  his  twine.  After  that,  make 
your  bread  how  you  could !  One 
day  I  heard  my  mother  tell  him  to 
his  face  he  was  enough  to  corrupt 
half  a  dozen  other  children  :  and  he 
only  cocked  his  eye  at  her,  and  next 
minute  away  with  the  nurslini^'s 
shoe  off  his  very  foot.  Now  this  Ge- 
rard is  tarred  with  the  same  stick. 
The  parchments  are  no  more  use  to 
him  than  a  thimble  or  an  awl  to  Jack. 
He  took  'em  out  of  pure  mischief  and 
hid  them,  and  you  would  never  have 
found  them  but  for  me." 

"  I  believe  you  are  right,"  said 
Ghysbrecht,  "  and  I  have  vexed  my- 
self more  than  need." 

When  they  came  to  Peter's  gate  he 
felt  uneasy. 

"  I  wish  it  had  been  anywhere  but 
here." 

Jorian  reassured  him. 

"  The  girl  is  honest  and  friendly," 
said  he.  "  She  had  nothing  to  do 
with  taking  them,  I  '11  be  sworn  "  ; 
and  he  led  him  into  the  garden. 
"  There,  master,  if  a  face  is  to  be  be- 
lieved, here  they  lie ;  and  see,  the 
mould  is  loose." 

He  ran  for  a  spade  which  was  stuck 
up  in  the  ground  at  some  distance, 
and  soon  went  to  work  and  uncovered 
a  parchment.  Ghysbrecht  saw  it, 
and  thrust  him  aside  and  went  down 
on  his  knees,  and  tore  it  out  of  the 
hole.  His  hands  trembled  and  his 
face  shone.  He  threw  out  parchment 
after  parchment,  and  Jorian  dusted 
them  and  cleaned  them  and  shook 
them.  Now,  when  Ghysbrecht  had 
thrown  out  a  great  many,  his  face 
began  to  darken  and  lengthen,  and, 
when  he  came  to  the  last,  he  put 
his  hands  to  his  temples  and  seemed 
to  be  all  amazed. 

"  What  mystery  lies  here  ?  "  he 
gasped.  "  Are  fiends  mocking  me  ? 
Dig  deeper !    There  must  be  another." 

Jorian  drove  the  spade  in  and 
threw  out  quantities  of  hard  mould. 
In  vain.  And,  even  while  he  dug,  his 
master's  mood  had  changed. 


IHG 


THK  CLOISTKR   AND  Till:   IIKARTII. 


"  Treason  !  trrnrhfry  !  "  he  cried. 
"  V«m  knew  of  this." 

"  Knew  wliat,  master,  in  Heaven's 
nann"  i  " 

■■  ("aitifr,  yon  knew  there  was 
another  one  worth  all  these  twice 
tol.l." 

"  'T  is  faIsM?,"   cried  Jorian,  nia<le 
su.spicious  l>v   the   otiier's   suspicion.  | 
"  "r  is  a  triclc  to  roh  nie  of  v\y  hun-  j 
(ire«l  crowns.     ( ),  I  know  you,  bnr>;o- 
niastcr."     And  Jorian  was  ready  to 
whinijR'r. 

A  Mieliow  voice  fell  on  them  lx>th 
like  oil  ii|ion  the  waves.  "  No,  (;o<m1 
man,  it  is  not  false,  nor  yet  is  it  <|uitc 
true  ;   there  was  another  jMirchinent." 

"  There,  there,  there  !  Where  is 
it?  " 

"  Hut,"  continued  Mar;;an't,  calm- 
ly, "  it  was  n<Jt  a  town  re<  ord  (so  you 
have  piineil  your  huiulred  crowns, 
j;o<mI  man)  ;  it  wa.s  hut  a  i)rivate  deed 
hctwccii  the  liur;;omastcr  ncre  and  my 
grandfather  Flor —  " 

"  Ihish,  hu>h  !  " 

"  — is  Hramlt." 

*•  When-  is  it,  ;,'irl  ?  that  is  all  we 
want  to  know." 

"  Have  patience,  and  I  shall  tell 
you.  (Jcrard  read  the  title  of  it,  and 
)ic  said,  '  This  is  as  inuih  yours  as 
the  hurnoma-ster's,"  and  he  put  it 
ajiart,  to  and  it  with  me  at  his 
leisure." 

"It  is  in  the  house,  then?"  said 
the  bur^^oraastcr,  recovering  his  calm- 
nes.s. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Mar;,'aret,  pravely, 
"  it  is  not."  Then,  in  a  voice  that 
faltered  suddenly,  "  You  hunted  — 
mv  jioor  (Jerard — so  hard  —  and  so 
close,  —  that  you  j:ave  him  —  no  time 
—  to  think  of  au;:ht  —  hut  his  life  — 
and  his  <:rief.  The  parchment  was 
ill  his  l)o<om,  and  he  hath  ta'en  it 
with  him." 

••  Whither,  whither?  " 

"  Ask  me  no  more,  sir.  WHiat 
ripht  is  yours  to  ([uc-tion  me  thus  ? 
It  was  for  your  sake,  ;,'ood  man,  I  put 
force  upon  my  heart,  and  came  out 
here,  and  Iwre  to  sjieak  at  all  to  this 
bard  old  man.     For,  when  I  think  of 


the  misery  he  has  brought  on  him  ana 
me,  the  syjht  of  him  is  more  than  I 
can  Uar  "  ;  and  she  JC'^^ e  an  involun- 
tary  shudder,  and  went  slowly  in, 
with  her  hand  to  her  head,  crying 
bitterly. 

Kemorsc  for  the  past  and  dread  for 
the  future,  —  the  slow,  hut,  as  he 
now  felt,  the  inevitable  future,  — 
avarice  and  fear,  all  tu^.'geil  in  one 
short  moment  at  (ihysliri-«ht's  tough 
heart.  He  hung  his  head,  and  his 
arms  fell  listless  by  his  sides.  A 
coarse  chuckle  made  him  start  round, 
and  there  stcMxl  Martin  Witteiihaa- 
gen  leaning  on  his  l»ow,  and  snivring 
froni  ear  to  ear.  At  sight  of  the  man 
and  his  grinning  face,  Uhysbretht's 
worst  pa.><.>>ions  awoke. 

"  Ho  !  attack  him,  seize  him,  traitor 
ami  thief!"  cried  he.  "Dog,  thou 
shalt  pay  for  all." 

Martin,  without  a  word,  calndy 
thrust  the  duke's  iiardon  under  (ihys- 
brecht's  nose.  lie  looked,  and  hud 
not  a  word  tr)  say.  Martin  followed 
uji  his  advantjige. 

"  The  duke  and  I  are  soldiers.  Ho 
won't  let  vou  greasy  burghers  trample 
on  an  old  comrade.  He  bode  mo 
carrv  vou  a  message  too." 

"  rlie  duke  send  a  message  to  nie  ?  " 

"  Av  !  I  told  him  of  your  master- 
ful doings,  of  your  imprisoning  Ge- 
rard for  loving  a  girl  ;  and  says  he  : 
'  Tell  him  this  is  to  be  a  king,  not  n 
burgomaster.  I  '11  have  no  kings  in 
Holland  but  one.  Hid  him  lie  moro 
humble,  or  I  '11  hang  him  at  his  own 
floor'"  ((Jhysbrecht  trembled.  He 
tluiught  the  iluke  caj)able  of  the  deed?) 
" '  as  I  hanged  the  burgomaster  o/ 
Thingemliob.'  The  duke  could  not 
mind  which  of  you  he  had  hung,  or 
in  what  nart :  such  trifles  stick  not  in 
a  sohlier  s  memory  ;  but  he  was  sure 
he  had  hanged  one  of  you  for  grind- 
ing ])Oor  folk,  — '  and  I  'm  the  man  to 
hang  another,'  r|uoth  the  good  duke." 

These  rcfieatetl  insults  from  so 
mean  a  man,  coupled  with  his  invul- 
nerability, shielded  as  he  was  by  the 
duke,  drove  the  choleric  old  man  into 
a  fit  of  impotent  fury;  he  shook  hia 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


187 


fist  at  the  soldier,  and  tried  to  threaten 
him,  but  could  not  speak  for  the  rage 
and  mortification  that  choked  him : 
then  he  gave  a  sort  of  screech,  and 
foiled  himself  up  in  eye  and  form  like 
3l  rattlesnake  about  to  strike,  and 
ipat  furiously  upon  Martin's  doublet. 

The  thick-skinned  soldier  treated 
Ihis  ebullition  with  genuine  contempt. 
"  Here 's  a  venomous  old  toad  !  He 
knows  a  kick  from  this  foot  would  send 
him  to  his  last  home,  and  he  wants  me 
to  cheat  the  gallows.  But  I  have  slain 
too  many  men  in  fair  fight  to  lift 
limb  against  anything  less  than  a 
man,  and  this  I  count  no  man.  What 
is  it,  in  Heaven's  name  ^  an  oldgoat's- 
skin  bag  full  o'  rotten  bones." 

"  My  mule !  my  mule  ! "  screamed 
Ghysbrecht. 

Jorian  helped  the  old  man  up,  trem- 
bling in  every  joint.  Once  in  the 
saddle,  he  seemed  to  gather  in  a  mo- 
ment unnatural  vigor ;  and  the  figure 
that  went  flying  to  Tergou  was  truly 
weird-like  and  terrible,  —  so  old  and 
wizened  the  face,  so  white  and  rever- 
end the  streaming  hair,  so  baleful 
the  eye,  so  fierce  the  fury  which 
shook  the  bent  frame  that  went  spur- 
ring like  mad ;  while  the  quavering 
voice  yelled,  "  I  '11  make  their  hearts 
ache.  I  '11  make  their  hearts  ache. 
I  '11  make  their  hearts  ache.  I  '11 
make  their  hearts  ache.  All  of  them. 
All!  — all!— all!" 

The  black  sheep  sat  disconsolate 
amidst  the  convivial  crew,  and  eyed 
Hans  Mending's  wallet.  For  more 
ease  he  had  taken  it  oflT,  and  flung 
it  on  the  table.  How  readily  they 
could  have  slipped  out  that  letter 
and  put  in  another !  For  the  first 
time  in  their  lives  they  were  sorry 
they  had  not  leaimed  to  write,  like 
their  brother. 

And  now  Hans  began  to  talk  of 
going,  and  the  brothers  agreed  in  a 
whisper  to  abandon  their  project  for 
the  time.  They  had  scarcely  resolved 
this,  when  Dierich  Brower  stood  sud- 
denly in  the  doorway,  and  gave  them 
a  wink. 


They  went  out  to  him.  "  Come  to 
the  burgomaster  with  all  speed,"  said 
he. 

They  found  Ghysbrecht  seated  at  a 
table,  pale  and  agitated.  Before  him 
lay  Margaret  Van  Eyck's  handwrit- 
ing. "I  have  written  Avhat  you  de- 
sired," said  he.  "  Now  for  the  super- 
scription. What  were  the  words  1 
did  ye  see  ?  " 

"  We  cannot  read,"  said  Cornells. 

"  Then  is  all  this  labor  lost,"  cried 
Ghysbrecht,  angrily.     "  Dolts  !  " 

"Nay,  but,"  said  Sybrandt,  "I 
heard  the  words  read,  and  I  have  not 
lost  them.  They  were  '  To  Gerard 
Eliassoen,  these  by  the  hand  of  the 
trusty  Hans  Meraling,  with  all 
speed.' " 

"  '  'T  is  well.  Now,  how  was  the 
letter  folded  ?  how  big  was  it '?  " 

"  Longer  than  that  one,  and  not 
so  long  as  this." 

'"T  is  well.     Where  is  he?" 

"  At  the  hostelry." 

"  Come,  then,  take  you  this  groat, 
and  treat  him.  Then  ask  to  see  the 
letter,  and  put  this  in  place  of  it. 
Come  to  me  with  the  other  letter." 

The  brothers  assented,  took  the 
letter,  and  went  to  the  hostelry. 

They  had  not  been  gone  a  minute 
when  Dierich  Brower  issued  from  the 
Stadthouse,  and  followed  them.  He 
had  his  orders  not  to  let  them  out  of 
his  sight  till  the  true  letter  was  in  his 
master's  hands.  He  watched  outside 
the  hostelry. 

He  had  not  long  to  wait.  They 
came  out  almost  immediately,  with 
downcast  looks.  Dierich  made  up  to 
them. 

"  Too  late  !  "  they  cried ;  "  too 
late  !     He  is  gone." 

"  Gone  ?     How  long  ?  " 

"  Scarce  five  minutes.  Cursed 
chance ! " 

"  You  must  go  back  to  the  burgo- 
master at  once,"  said  Dierich  Brower. 

"  To  what  end  ?  " 

"  No  matter,  come  "  ;  and  he  hur 
ried  them  to  the  Stadthouse. 

Ghysbrecht  Van  Swieten  was  not 
the  man  to  accept  a  defeat.     "  Well," 


188 


THE  CLOISTKR  AND   THK  HKAKTII. 


aaid  he,  on  hearing  the  ill  ncw.s,  "  nip- 
p«)sc  he  is  j,'onc.     Is  he  inuuutcd  1 " 

"  No." 

"  Then  whnt  hinders  you  to  come 
np  wiili  hitii  ' 

•'  IJut  what  avails  cominp  up  with 
him  f  there  arc  no  hostelries  on  the 
roail  he  is  j.'one." 

•■  K«x>ls  !  "  said  (Jhyshroeht,  "  is  there 
no  way  of  eniptyiti^,'  a  man's  jxH-kets 
l>ut  li<|iior  and  .slfi^ht-of -hand  f  " 

A  nifaniiitj  l<K)k  that  juLssed  Ih.-- 
twicii  (;iiysl)reeht  and  Diiriih  aided 
thi-  hroihrrs'  cuinprehension.  'I'hey 
t  liiia;:ed  rulor,  and  lost  all  zeal  for 
llu-  hiisinirss. 

"  No !  no !  we  don't  hntc  our 
iirotlur.  We  won't  ^<'t  ourselves 
hun;,'<;(l  to  sjiitf  him,"  saiil  Syhrandt ; 
"  tliat  would  Ik;  a  tool's  trick." 

llaii^'edf"  crii'd  Ghyshreoht. 
•  Am  I  not  the  hnrp>ma.ster  ?  How- 
can  ye  \m  han;:cd  '  I  sw  how  't  is  ; 
ye  fear  to  tackle  one  man,  iK-inj;  two  : 
hearts  of  hare,  that  ye  aru  !  O  why 
cannot  1  W  youn^  a^ain  '.  I  'd  do  it 
iiini;le-hand»'d." 

The  old  man  now  threw  off  all  dis- 
puise,  and  .showed  tluin  his  heart 
was  in  this  deed.  He  then  flattered 
and  U'soupht,  and  jtrred  them  idter- 
nately,  hut  he  found  no  elo(|uence 
eoulii  move  them  to  an  action,  how- 
ever dishonorahle,  which  was  at- 
tended with  danp^-r.  At  last  he 
oi>ene<l  a  drawer,  and  showed  thera  a 
pde  of  silver  coins. 

"  Change  hut  those  letters  for  me," 
he  said,  "  and  each  of  you  shall 
tiirust  one  hand  into  this  drawer, 
and  take  away  as  many  of  them  as  you 
can  hold." 

The  effect  was  mapical.  Their 
eves  glittered  with  desire.  Their 
whole  Injdics  seemed  to  swell,  and 
rise  into  male  energy. 

"  Swear  it,  then,"  said  Syhrandt. 

"  I  swear  it." 

"  No  ;  on  the  crucifix." 

Ghysbrecht  swore  upon  the  cru- 
cifix. 

The  next  minute  the  brothers  were 
on  the  road,  in  pursuit  of  Hans 
Mcmling.      They   came   in   sight   of 


him  about  two  lesgues  from  Tcrpou  | 
but,  though  they  knew  he  had  no 
wea|X)n    but   his   stall,  they  were   too 

r)ru<lent  to  venture  on  him  in  day- 
ight  ;   so  they  fell  back. 

Hut  biing  now  thriv  leagues  and 
more  from  the  town,  ami  on  a  gra»»y 
road,  —  sun  down,  moon  not  vet  up, 
—  honest  Hans  suddenly  fcjund  him- 
.self  attacked  Itofore  and  behind  at 
once  by  men  with  u|)lifted  knivex, 
whi»  crie<l  in  loud,  though  somewhat 
shaky  voices,  "  SlJind  and  deliver!  " 

'i'he  attack  was  so  sudden,  and  so 
well  planned,  that  Hans  was  dis- 
mayed. "  Slay  me  not,  good  fel- 
lows," he  crii'<l.  "  I  am  but  a  po<jr 
num.  and  ye  shall  have  my  all." 

"  So  be  it,  then.  Live  !  But  empty 
the  wallet." 

"  There  is  naught  in  my  wallet, 
good  friends,  but  one  letter." 

"  That  wo  shall  see,"  said  Sy- 
hrandt, who  was  the  one  in  front. 
"  Well,  it  IS  a  letter." 

"  Take  it  not  froiu  me,  I  pray  you. 
'T  is  worth  naught,  and  the  good 
dame  wouhl  fret  that  writ  it." 

"  Theri',"  Rai«l  Syhrandt,  "  take 
back  thy  letter  :  and  now  empty  thy 
pouch.     Come,  tarry  not !  " 

Hut  by  this  time  Hans  had  recov- 
ered his  confu.sjon  :  and,  from  a  cer- 
tain flutter  in  Syhrandt,  and  hard 
breathing  of  Comelis,  aide*!  by  an 
inde.>icribablc  consciousness,  felt  sure 
the  pair  he  hail  to  deal  with  were  no 
heroes.  He  pretemled  to  fumble  for 
his  money  ;  then  suddenly  thrust  his 
staff  fiercely  into  Sybrandt's  face  and 
drove  him  staggering,  and  lent  Cor- 
nelia a  back-handed  slash  on  the  ear 
that  sent  him  twirling  like  a  weather- 
cock in  March ;  then  whirled  his 
weapon  over  his  head,  and  danced 
about  the  road  like  a  figure  on 
springs,  shouting,  "  Come  on,  ye 
thieving  loons  !     Come  on  !  " 

It  was  a  plain  invitation,  yet  they 
misunderstood  it  so  utterly  as  to  take 
to  their  heels,  with  Hans  after  them, 
he  shouting,  "  Stop  thieves  !  "  anti 
they  howling  with  fear  and  pain  as 
they  ran. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


189 


CHAPTER  XL. 

A  CHANGE  came  over  Margaret 
Brandt.  She  went  about  her  house- 
hold duties  like  one  in  a  dream.  If 
Peter  did  but  speak  a  little  qviickly  to 
her,  she  started,  and  fixed  two  ter- 
rified eyes  on  him.  She  went  less 
often  to  her  friend  Margaret  Van 
Eyck,  and  was  ill  at  her  ease  when 
there.  Instead  of  meeting  her  warm 
old  friend's  caresses,  she  used  to 
receive  them  passive  and  trembling, 
and  sometimes  almost  shrink  from 
them.  But  the  most  extraordinary 
thing  was,  she  never  would  go  out- 
side her  own  house  in  daylight. 
When  she  went  to  Tergou,  it  was 
after  dusk,  and  she  returned  before 
daybreak.  She  would  not  even  go  to 
matins.  At  last,  Peter,  unobservant 
as  he  was,  noticed  it,  and  asked  her 
the  reason. 

"  The  folk  all  looked  at  me  so." 

One  day,  Margaret  Van  Eyck 
asked  her  what  was  the  matter.  A 
scared  look  and  a  flood  of  tears  were 
all  the  reply :  the  old  lady  expostu- 
lated gently.  "  What,  sweetheart, 
afraid  to  confide  your  sorrows  to  me  ?  " 

"I  have  no  sorrows,  madam,  but 
of  my  own  making.  I  am  kinder 
treated  than  I  deserve,  especially  in 
this  house." 

"  Then  why  not  come  oftener,  my 
dear  ?  " 

"  I  come  oftener  than  I  deserve  " ; 
and  she  sighed  deeply. 

"  There,  Richt  is  bawling  for  you," 
said  Margaret  Van  Eyck;  "go, 
child  !  —  what  on  earth  can  it  be  1 " 

Turning  possibilities  over  in  her 
mind,  she  thought  Margaret  must  be 
mortified  at  the  contempt  with  which 
she  was  treated  by  Gerard's  fami- 
ly. "  I  will  take  them  to  task  for 
it,  —  at  least,  such  of  them  as  are 
women  "  ;  and,  the  very  next  day,  she 
put  on  her  hood  and  cloak,  and,  fol- 
lowed by  Richt,  went  to  the  hosier's 
house.  Catherine  received  her  with 
much  respect,  and  thanked  her,  with 
teacs,  for   her   kindness   to    Grcrard. 


But  when,  encouraged  by  this,  her 
visitor  diverged  to  Margaret  Brandt, 
Catherine's  eyes  dried,  and  her  lips 
turned  to  half  the  size,  and  she  looked 
as  only  obstinate,  ignorant  women 
can  look.  When  they  put  on  this 
cast  of  features,  you  might  as  well 
attempt  to  soften  or  convince  a  brick 
wall.  Margaret  Van  Eyck  tried,  but 
all  in  vain.  So  then,  not  being  her- 
self used  to  be  thwarted,  she  got  pro- 
voked, and  at  last  went  out  hastily 
with  an  abrupt  and  mutilated  courte- 
sy, which  Catherine  returned  with  an 
air  rather  of  defiance  than  obeisance. 
Outside  the  door  Margaret  Van  Eyck 
found  Richt  conversing  with  a  pale 
girl  on  crutches.  Margaret  Van  Eyck 
was  pushing  by  them  with  heightened 
color  and  a  scornful  toss,  intended 
for  the  whole  family,  when  suddenly 
a  little  delicate  hand  glided  timid- 
ly into  hers,  and,  looking  round,  she 
saw  two  dovelikc  eyes,  \vith  the  water 
in  them,  that  sought  hers  gratefully 
and  at  the  same  time  imploringly. 
The  old  lady  read  this  wonderful 
look,  complex  as  it  was,  and  down 
went  her  choler.  She  stooped  and 
kissed  Kate's  brow.  "  I  see,"  said 
she.  "  Mind,  then,  I  leave  it  to  you." 
Returned  home,  she  said :  "  I  have 
been  to  a  house  to-day  where  I  have 
seen  a  very  common  thing,  and  a  very 
uncommon  thing  :  I  have  seen  a  stu- 
pid, obstinate  woman,  and  I  have  seen 
an  angel  in  the  flesh,  with  a  face  — 
If  I  had  it  here  I  'd  take  down  my 
brushes  once  more,  and  try  and  paint 
it." 

Little  Kate  did  not  belie  the  good 

opinion  so  hastily  formed  of  her.  She 

waited  a  better  opportunity,  and  told 

her  mother  Avhat  she  liad  learned  from 

Richt  Heynes,  that  Margaret  had  shed 

her  very  blood  for  Gerard  in  the  wood. 

"  See,  mother,  how  she  loves  him." 

"  Who  would  not  love  him  ?  " 

"  O   mother,    think   of  it  1      Pool 

thing." 

"  Ay,  wench.  She  has  her  own 
trouble,  no  doubt,  as  well  as  we  ours. 
I  can't  abide  the  sight  of  blood,  let 
alone  my  own." 


190 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEAUTH. 


Tliis  was  a  point  pained ;  but 
when  Kate  tried  to  follow  it  up  she 
was  stopj)ed  short. 

Ai)imt  a  niDiith  after  tliis,  a  soldier 
of  the  Dalt^etty  trihe,  retiiriiinp  from 
serviee  in  liurpuiidy,  hroupht  a  letter 
one  cvenin;,'  to  the  hosier's  house.  He 
was  away  on  husiness,  hut  the  rest  of 
the  family  sat  at  sup|>er.  The  soldier 
laid  the  letter  on  the  tahle  by  Cath- 
erine, and,  refusing  all  guerdon  for 
bringing  it,  went  ort'  to  Sevcnbcr- 
gen. 

The  letter  wii-s  unfolded  and  spread 
out;  and,  euriously  enough,  though 
not  one  of  them  eould  read,  they 
eould  all  tc'll  it  was  Licrard's  hand- 
writing. 

"  And  your  firther  must  be  away," 
cried  Catherine.  "  Are  ye  not 
ashamed  of  yourselves  ?  not  one 
that  eaii  read  your  brother's  let- 
ter '.  " 

Hilt,  although  the  words  were  to 
them  what  hiirogly])liies  arc  to  us, 
there  was  something  in  the  letter 
they  eould  read.  There  is  an  art 
can  s[K'ak  without  words  ;  unfettiTed 
bv  the  jieninau's  limits,  it  can  steal 
through  the  eye  into  the  heart  and 
brain  alike  of  the  learned  and  un- 
learned ;  and  it  can  cross  a  frontier 
<ir  a  sea,  yet  lose  nothing,  it  is  at 
the  mercy  of  no  translator ;  for  it 
writes  an  universal   language. 

When,  therefore,  they  saw  the 
sketch  of  two  hands  grasping  each 
other,  which  (lerard  had  drawn  with 
his  pencil  In'twi-en  the  two  short 
]iaragraphs  of  which  his  letter  con- 
sistcil,  they  read  it,  and  it  went 
straight  to  their  hearts. 

(ierard  was  bidding  them  farewell. 

As  the}'  gazed  on  that  simple 
sketch,  in  every  turn  and  line  of 
which  they  recognized  his  manner, 
(ierard  seemed  present,  and  bidding 
them  farewell. 

The  women  wept  over  it  till  they 
eould  see  it  no  longer. 

Giles  said,  "  Poor  Gerard !  "  in  a 
lower  voice  than  seemed  to  belong  to 

lillU. 

Even  Conielis  and  Sybrandt  felt  a 


momentary  remorse,   and   iat  silent 
and  gloomy. 

But  how  to  get  the  words  read  to 
them.  They  were  loath  to  show 
their  ignorance  and  their  emotion 
to  a  stranger. 

"The  Dame  Van  Eyck  ?  "  said 
Kate,  timidlv. 

"  And  so  1  will,  Kate.  She  has  a 
go<jd  heart.  She  loves  Gerard,  too. 
She  will  be  glad  to  hear  of  him.  1 
was  short  with  her  when  she  came 
here  ;  but  I  w  ill  make  my  submis- 
sion, and  then  she  will  tell  me  what 
my  j)oor  child  says  to  me." 

She  was  soon  at  Margaret  Van 
Eyik's  house.  Kicht  took  her  into  a 
n)om,  and  said,  "  Bide  a  minute;  she 
is  at  her  orisons." 

There  was  a  young  woman  in  the 
room,  seated  pensively  by  the  stove  ; 
but  she  ro.se  and  courteously  luado 
way  for  the  visitor. 

"  Thank  you,  young  lady  ;  the  win- 
ter nights  are  cold,  and  ymir  stove  is 
a  treat."  Catherine  then,  while  warm- 
ing her  hands,  inspccte<l  her  compan- 
ion furtivelv  from  head  to  foot,  lioth 
inclusive.  The  young  [K-rson  wore  an 
ordinary  wimple,  but  her  gtjwn  was 
trimmed  with  fur,  which  w;us,  in  these 
(lays,  almost  a  sign  of  siij)erior  rank 
or  wealth.  But  what  most  struck 
Catherine  was  the  candor  and  mod- 
esty of  the  face.  She  felt  sure  of 
symjiathy  from  so  good  a  counte- 
nance, and  K'gan  to  gossip. 

"  2sow,  what  think  you  brings  mo 
here,  young  lady  ?  It  is  a  letter;  a 
letter  from  my  poor  lK)y  that  is  far 
aw.ay  in  some  savage  part  or  other. 
And  I  take  shame  to  say  that  none 
of  us  can  read  it.  I  wonder  whether 
you  can  read  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Can  ye,  now  1  It  is  much  to 
your  credit,  my  dear.  I  dare  say 
she  won't  be  long  ;  but  every  min- 
ute is  an  hour  to  a  poor,  longing 
mother." 

"  I  will  read  it  to  you." 

"  Bless  you,  my  dear ;  bless  you  !  " 

In   her    unfeigned    eagerness   shp 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


191 


never  noticed  the  suppressed  eager- 
ness with  whicli  the  hand  was  slowly 
put  out  to  take  the  letter.  She  did 
not  see  the  tremor  witli  which  the 
fingers  closed  on  it. 

"  Come,  then,  read  it  to  me,  prithee. 
I  am  wearying  for  it." 

"  The  lirst  woi'ds  are,  '  To  my 
honored  parents.'  " 

"  Ay  !  and  he  always  did  lionor  us, 
])oor  soul." 

"  '  God  and  his  saints  have  you  in 
his  holy  keeping,  and  bless  you  by 
night  and  by  day.  Your  one  harsh 
deed  is  forgotten ;  your  years  of  love 
remembered.' " 

Catherine  laid  her  hand  on  her 
bosom,  and  sank  back  in  her  chair 
with  one  long  sob, 

"  Then  comes  this,  madam.  It 
doth  speak  for  itself ;  '  a  long  fare- 
well.' " 

"  Ay,  go  on  ;  bless  you,  girl ;  j'ou 
give  me  sorry  comfort.  Still  't  is 
comfort." 

"  '  To  my  brothers  Cornelis  and 
Sybrandt : — Be  content;  you  will 
see  me  no  more  ! '  " 

"  What  does  that  mean  ?     Ah !  " 

"  '  To  my  sister  Kate.  Little  angel 
of  my  father's  house,  be  kind  to 
htr  —  '     Ah!" 

"  That  is  Margaret  Brandt,  my 
dear,  —  his  sweetheart,  poor  soul. 
I  've  not  been  kind  to  her,  my 
dear.     Forgive  me,  Gerard  !  " 

"  '  —  for  poor  Gerard's  sake  ;  since 
grief  to  her  is  death  —  to  —  me  — ' 
Ah  !  "  And  nature,  resenting  the  poor 
girl's  struggle  for  unnatural  compo- 
sure, suddenly  gave  way,  and  she 
sank  from  her  chair  and  lay  insen- 
sible, with  the  letter  in  her  hand,  and 
her  head  on  Catherine's  knees. 


CHAPTER  XLT. 

Experienced    women     are     not 

frightened    when    a    woman    faints, 

nor   do   they   hastily  attribute  it   to 

anything  but  phvsical  causes,  which 

"9 


they  have  often  seen  produce  it 
Catherine  bustled  about;  laid  the 
girl  down  with  her  head  on  the  floor 
quite  flat,  opened  the  window,  and  un- 
loosed her  dress  as  she  lay.  Not 
till  she  had  done  all  this  did  she 
step  to  the  door  and  say,  rather 
loudly  :  — 

"  Come  here,  if  you  please." 

Margaret  Van  Eyck  and  Richt 
came  and  found  Margaret  lying  quite 
flat,  and  Catherine  beating  her  hands. 

"  0  my  poor  girl !  What  have  you 
done  to  her  ?  " 

"  Me  ?  "  said  Catherine,  angrily. 

"  What  has  happened,  then  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  madam  ;  nothing  more 
than  is  natural  in  her  situation." 

Margaret  Van  Eyck  colored  with  ire. 

"  You  do  well  to  speak  so  coolly," 
said  she,  "  you  that  are  the  cause  of 
her  situation." 

"  That  I  am  not,"  said  Catherine, 
bluntly,  "  nor  any  woman  born." 

"  What  ?  was  it  not  you  and  your 
husband  that  kept  them  apart ;  and 
now  he  is  gone  to  Italy  all  alone. 
Situation  indeed  ?  You  have  broken 
her  heart  amongst  you." 

"  Why,  madam  ?  Who  is  it  then, 
in  Heaven's  name  ?  to  hear  you  one 
would  think  this  was  my  Gerard's 
lass.  But  that  can't  be.  This  fur 
never  cost  less  than  five  crowns  the 
ell ;  besides,  this  young  gentlewoman 
is  a  wife  ;  or  ought  to  be." 

"Of  course  she  ought.  And  who 
is  the  cause  she  is  none  ?  Who  came 
between  them  at  the  very  altar  ?  " 

"  God  forgive  them,  whoever  it 
was,"  said  Catherine,  gravely;  "me 
it  was  not,  nor  my  man." 

"  Well,"  said  the  other,  a  little  soft- 
ened, "  now  you  have  seen  lier,  per- 
haps you  will  not  be  quite  so  bitter 
against  her,  madam.  She  is  coming 
to,  thank  Heaven." 

"  Me  bitter  against  her  ?  "  said 
Catherine ;  "  no ;  that  is  all  over. 
Poor  soul !  trouble  behind  her  and 
trouble  afore  her ;  and  to  think  of  my 
setting  her,  of  all  living  women,  to 
read  Gerard's  letter  to  me.  Ay,  and 
that  was  what  made  her  go  off,  I  'II 


l'J2 


Tin:   CI.dlSlKlC    AND   THK    UKAIMH. 


lio  s\si>in.  Slio  ii  toniiiii;  to.  What, 
BwetllHurt  '  U-  not  nfcartl,  none  ore 
here  ttiit  Iricnil.s." 

Tin y  sfiititl  lier  in  an  «usv-<hnir. 
Ah  tlu:  (•t)l<»r  wiu  cnt-piiiK  buck  to  her 
fmo  anil  lii)s,  {'atherino  tlruw  Mar- 
^^art't  Van  Kyrk  uiiidc. 

"  la  »hi'  -Htayinjj  with  you,  if  you 
|>l«'ii.se  !  " 

"  No,  tnnilani." 

"  I  W(ju|il  n't  Ift  licr  (;<>  Imck  to 
SevetilMrjjiii  tf)-ni;jht,  then." 

"  That  is  as  she  plea.se.s.  She  ittill 
rffuses  to  hiile  tlie  ni^ht." 

"  Ay,  but  you  are  ohier  than  .she  i.s  ; 
Miu  iiin  lual^f  her.     There,  she  i.s  be- 
1,'inniiij,'  to   nt)tice."     t'ntherine  then 
iiiit    her    mouth    to    Mar;,'aret     Van  j 
liyek's  ear  for  lialf  a  nioinei\t ;  it  ilid  j 
not  .strni   time  enough  tn  wlii.sjHT  a 
won!,    far    le.-s   a  M-ntinei'.     IJut  on  i 
^*ome    topirs   fi'iiiules   can    thi.-sli   com-  1 
munieation  to  female  liki;  li^htnin;;, 
or  lhou;;ht  it-^lf. 

The  uUl  Ituly  started  and  whi.spirvil 
bai-k :  — 

"  It  'a  false !  it  is  a  calumny  !  it  \a 
monstrous  !  Look  at  her  fncc.  It  i» 
lilasiiliemy  to  aceusc  sueh  a  face." 

••  I'ut !'  tut !  tut !  "  said  the  otiicr, 
"  you  mi;;ht  as  well  .say  this  is  not 
inV  hand.  I  oupht  to  know  ;  and  I 
tell  yo  it  is  so." 

Then,  much  to  Marpnn-t  Van 
Kyek's  surprise,  she  went  up  to  the 
;:irl,  and,  takin;:  her  n>un<l  tlic  neck, 
kissiil  her  wannlv.  "  I  sutVered  for 
(lernrd,  and  you  .slud  your  bloml  for 
him,  I  <lo  hear  ;  his  own  wonls  show 
ine  I  have  Inen  to  blame,  the  very 
words  you  have  read  to  mc.  Ay, 
(Jeranl,  my  ehilil,  I  have  held  al<M)f 
ritini  her.  But  I  '11  make  it  up  to  her, 
<>iui>  I  lK';:in.  You  are  my  dani;htcr 
from  this  hour." 

Another  warm  embnu-e  scale<l  this 
hasty  compact,  and  the  woman  of  im- 
pulse was  tronc. 

Mnrjjnret  lay  back  in  her  chair,  and 
a  feeble  smile  stole  over  her  face.  Ge- 
rard's mother  had  kissed  her,  and 
called  her  dau^'hter  ;  l»ut  the  next 
moment  she  saw  her  old  friend  look- 
ing at  her  with  a  vexed  air. 


"  I  wonder  you  let  ih  it  wonuui 
kiss  vou." 

"  Ilis  mother  !  "  miirniure«l  Mftr- 
paret,  half  reproachfidly. 

"  Mother  or  no  mother,  you  would 
not  let  her  touch  vou  if  you  knew 
what  she  whis]RTC(i  in  my  ear  about 
you." 

"  Alxmt  me  ?  "  said  Marpirct, 
faintly. 

"  Av,  alK>ut  you,  whom  she  never 
saw  till  tiHuipht."  The  old  lady  was 
pHKcedinp,  with  .M)me  hesitation  and 
choice  of  lan;;ua;:e,  to  make  .Marj^a- 
ret  share  her  indi;;milion,  when  an 
uidiMiked-for  interruption  closed  her 
lips. 

The  youiiR  wonmn  slid  from  her 
chair  to  her  knees,  ami  lK'j;an  to  pray 
jiiteously  to  her  for  |>ardon.  From  the 
words  and  the  manner  of  |Miiiteniv  a 
by-stander  wiuild  have  ^athereil  she 
had  inflii'tcd  soiiie  <Tiirl  wronp,  some 
intolerable  insult,  uiM>n  her  venerable 
friend. 


(  iiArrr.K  xi.ii. 

The  little  partv  at  the  hosier's 
house  sat  at  table  discussing;  the 
n-cent  event,  when  their  mother  re- 
turned, and,  casting;  a  piercing  glance 
nil  roiiiul  the  little  circle,  laid  the  let 
ter  Hat  on  the  table.  She  n-neatcd 
every  word  of  it  by  memory,  lollow- 
in;;  the  lines  with  her  lin;rer,  to 
cheat  herself  and  hearers  into  the 
notion  that  she  cinild  read  the  words, 
or  nearly.  Then,  suddenly  liftinf; 
her  head,  she  cast  another  keen  look 
on  Conielis  and  Sybnmdt  ;  their 
eyes  fril. 

<»n  this  the  storm  that  had  long 
Ueti  brewiu;;  Iturst  on  their  heads. 

Catherine  seemed  to  swell  like  an 
anpry  hen  rurtlinfr  her  feathers,  and 
out  of  her  mouth  came  a  Hlione  and 
Saone  of  wisdom  and  twaddle,  of 
f^reat  and  mean  in\e(tive,  such  as 
no  male  that  ever  was  liorn  could 
utter  in  one  current,  ami  not  many 
women. 

The  following  is  u  fair,  though  a 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


193 


Bmall  sample  of  her  words  ;  only  they 
were  uttered  all  in  one  breath. 

"  I  have  long  had  my  doubts  that 
you  blew  the  flame  betwixt  Gerard 
and  your  father,  and  set  that  old 
rogue,  Ghysbrecht,  on.  And  now, 
here  are  Gerard's  own  written  words 
to  prove  it.  You  have  driven  your 
own  flesh  and  blood  into  a  far  land, 
and  robbed  the  mother  that  bore  you 
of  her  darling,  the  pride  of  her  eye, 
the  joy  of  her  heart.  But  you  are 
all  of  a  piece  from  end  to  end.  When 
you  were  all  boys  together,  my  others 
were  a  comfort ;  but  you  were  a  curse  ; 
mischievous  and  sly ;  and  took  a 
woman  half  a  day  to  keep  your 
clothes  whole  ;  for  why  '?  Avork  wears 
cloth,  but  play  cuts  it.  With  the 
beard  comes  prudence,  but  none 
came  to  you  ;  still  the  last  to  go  to 
bed,  and  the  last  to  leave  it ;  and 
why?  because  honesty  goes  to  bed 
early,  and  industry  rises  betimes ; 
where  there  arc  two  lie-abeds  in  a 
house  there  are  a  pair  of  ne'er-do- 
weels.  Often  I  've  sat  and  looked  at 
your  ways,  and  wondered  where  yc 
came  from  :  ye  don't  take  after  3'our 
father,  and  yc  are  no  more  like  me 
than  a  wasp  is  to  an  ant :  sure  yc 
were  changed  in  the  cradle,  or  the 
cuckoo  dropped  ye  on  my  floor  ;  for 
ye  have  not  our  hands,  nor  our 
hearts ;  of  all  my  blood  none  but 
you  ever  jeered  them  that  God  afflict- 
ed ;  but  often,  wlien  my  back  was 
turned,  I  've  heard  you  mock  at  Giles, 
because  he  is  not  so  big  as  some  ;  and 
at  my  lily  Kate,  because  she  is  not  so 
strong  as  a  Flanders  mare.  After 
that  rob  a  church  an  j^ou  will !  for 
you  can  be  no  worse  in  His  eyes  that 
made  both  Kate  and  Giles,  and  in 
mine  that  suftered  for  them,  poor  dar- 
lings, as  I  did  for  you,  you  paltry,  un- 
feeling, treasonable  curs  !  No,  1  will 
not  hush,  my  daughter ;  they  have 
flUed  the  cup  too  full.  It  takes  a  deal 
to  turn  a  mother's  heart  against  the 
sons  she  has  nursed  upon  her  knees  ; 
and  many  is  the  time  I  have  winked 
find  wouldn't  see  too  much,  and  bit- 
ten my  tongue,  lest  their  father  should 


know  them  as  I  do ;  he  would  have 
put  them  to  the  door  that  moment. 
But  now  they  have  fllled  the  cup  too 
full.  And  where  got  ye  all  this 
money  ?  For  the  last  month  you 
have  been  rolling  in  it.  You  never 
wrought  for  it.  I  wish  I  may  never 
hear  from  other  mouths  how  ye  got 
it.  It  is  since  that  night  you  were 
out  so  late,  and  your  head  came 
back  so  swelled,  Cornelis.  Sloth  and 
greed  are  ill  mated,  my  masters. 
Lovers  of  money  must  sweat  or  steal. 
Well,  if  you  robbed  any  poor  soul  of 
it,  it  was  some  woman,  I  'il  go  bail ; 
for  a  man  would  drive  you  with  his 
naked  hand.  No  matter  ;  it  is  good 
for  one  thing.  It  has  shown  me 
how  you  will  guide  your  gear  if 
ever  it  comes  to  be  yourn.  I  liave 
watched  you,  my  lads,  this  while. 
You  have  spent  a  groat  to-day  be- 
tween you.  And  I  spend  scarce  a 
groat  a  week,  and  keep  you  all,  good 
and  bad.  No  !  give  up  waiting  for 
the  shoes  that  will  maybe  walk  be- 
hind your  coffin  ;  for  this  shop  and 
this  house  shall  never  be  yourn.  Ge- 
rard is  our  heir ;  poor  Gerard  whom 
you  have  banished  and  done  your 
best  to  kill ;  after  that  never  call  me 
mother  again  !  But  you  have  made 
him  tenfold  dearer  to  me.  My  poor 
lost  boy  !  I  shall  soon  see  him  again : 
shall  hold  him  in  my  arms,  and  set 
him  on  my  knees.  Ay,  you  may 
stare !  You  are  too  crafty,  and  yet 
not  crafty  enow.  You  cut  the  stalk 
away  ;  but  you  left  the  seed,  —  the 
seed  that  shall  outgrow  you,  and  out- 
live you.  Margaret  Brandt  is  quick, 
and  it  is  Gerard's,  and  what  is  Ge- 
rard's is  mine  ;  and  I  have  prayed  the 
saints  it  may  be  a  boy  ;  and  it  will  — 
it  must.  Kate,  when  I  found  it  wns 
so,  my  bowels  yearned  over  her  child 
unborn  as  if  it  had  been  my  own.  He 
is  our  heir.  He  Avill  outlive  us.  You 
will  not ;  for  a  bad  heart  in  a  carcass 
is  like  tlic  worm  in  a  nut,  soon  brings 
the  body  to  dust.  So,  Kate,  take 
down  Gerard's  bib  and  tucker  that  are 
in  the  drawer  you  wot  of,  and  one  of 
these  days  we  will  carry  them  to  Sev» 


191 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   IIEAKTir. 


cnberpen.  We  will  Ixirrow  Peter 
Hii\>ki'ns's  (lift  iiini  ^'u  i  nmtbrt  <io- 
riiril'.s  wife  iimler  hur  liurdcii.  She 
is  liis  wife.  Who  is  Ghvshrecht  Van 
Swieteii  !  Cuii  he  come  hetween  a 
couple  niiii  the  iilliir,  utiil  siiiuler  those 
that  (lod  and  the  priest  make  one? 
She  is  niv  ihui;;hter,  and  I  am  as 
proud  of  her  a>  I  am  of  you,  Kate, 
almost  :  and  us  for  you,  keep  out  of 
my  wav  awhile  ;  for  you  arc  like  the 
hiaek  (lojj  ill  my  eyes." 

Cornelis  and  Syhrandt  took  the 
hint  and  slunk  out,  aehing  with  re- 
morse an<l  imj>enitenee  and  hate. 
'J'hey  avoiiicd  her  I've  a.-<  much  as 
ever  they  eould  ;  and  for  many  davs 
pile  never  .sjMjke  a  word,  nootl,  had,  or 
inilitlerent,  to  either  of  thein.  Liber- 
ai-frut  animum  suum. 


ClIAl'TKU   XLllI. 

C  vTiiEniNE  wim  n  trood  housewife, 
who  seldom  left  home  for  a  iluy,  and 
then  one  thin;:  or  another  always 
went  amiss.  She  was  keenly  eon- 
seioiis  of  this,  and,  watehiii;;  for  a 
slaek  tide  in  thin;rs  domestic,  put  otV 
her  visit  to  Seveuher^en  from  day  to 
ilay,  and  one  afternoon  that  it  really 
could  have  hit-n  manaj;ed,  I'eter  liuy- 
skens's  mule  wits  out  of  the  way. 

At  last  one  day  Kli  asked  her,  lic- 
fure  all  the  family,  whether  it  wa.s  true 
.she  had  thoujj;lit  of  visitiii;;  Mar;;aret 
Brandt. 

"  Av,  my  man." 

"  Then  I  do  forhid  you." 

"  O,  <lo  vou  ?  " 

"I  do."" 

"  Then  there  is  no  more  to  be  said, 
I  supiH)sc,"  said  she,  coloring. 

"  Not  a  word,"  rcplie<l  Kli,  sternly. 

When  she  was  alone  with  her 
da>ii:hter  she  was  very  severe,  not 
upon  l'",li,  but  upon  herself. 

"  lieiiooved  mc  rather  ;xo  thither  like 
a  eat  at  a  robin.  But  iliis  was  me  all 
over,  1  am  like  a  silly  hen  that  can 
lay  no  e^r.u:  without  cackling',  and  <  on- 
vciiini:  all  the  house  to  rob  her  ou  't. 


Next  time  you  and  I  are  after  nu^ht 
the  least  amiss,  let 's  do  't  in  Heaven's 
name  then  and  there,  and  not  tuko 
time  to  think  about  it,  far  less  talk; 
so  then,  if  they  take  us  to  task  we 
can  say,  alack,  we  knew  nauj;ht ;  wo 
thought  no  ill;  now,  who'd  ever? 
and  so  forth.  I''or  two  i)ins  I  'd  go 
thither  in  all  their  teeth.' 

Dehanee  so  wild  and  picturesque 
staj.'i,'ered  Kate.  "  Nay,  mother ;  with 
patience  father  will  come  r<jund." 

"  And  so  will  Michaelmns  ;  but 
when  '.  and  I  was  so  U-nt  on  you  see- 
in;,'  the  ^'irl.  Then  we  coulil  have 
put  our  heads  to;:etlKT  about  her. 
.^aj  what  they  will,  there  is  no  jud;;- 
in;;  body  or  beast  but  l)y  the  eye. 
And  were  I  to  have  fifty  more  sons 
I  'd  ne'er  thwart  one  of  tlieni's  fancy, 
till  such  time  a.s  I  had  clapiied  my 
eyes  ujMin  her  and  .s<'en  (piicKsands  ; 
say  you,  I  should  have  ihou;:ht  of 
that  Ufore  «(Hidemnin;;  (lerarrl  his 
fancv  ;  but  there,  life  is  a  schtMd,  nnd 
the  lesson  ne'er  done;  we  put  down 
one  fault  and  take  up  t'other,  and  so 
p>  blundering:  hen-  nnd  bluiidirinp 
there,  till  we  blunder  into  our  ^'ravcs, 
and  there  's  an  end  of  us." 

"  .Mother,"  said  Kate,  timidly. 

"  Well,  what  is  a  comin;:  now  ?  no 
pood  news  thouj;h,  by  the  look  of  you. 
What  on  earth  can  make  jioor  wench 
so  scared  ? " 

"  An  avowal  she  hath  to  make," 
faltered  Kate,  faintly. 

"  Now,  there  is  a  noble  word  for 
ye,"  said  Catherine,  iiroiully.  "  Our 
Cierard  tau;,'ht  thee  tliat,  I  'II  po  bail. 
Come  then,  out  with  thy  vowel." 

"  Well  then,  sooth  to  say,  I  have 
seen  her." 

"  Anan  ?  " 

"  And  spoken  with  her  to  boot." 

"  And  never  told  inc  ?  After  this, 
manels  are  dirt." 

"  ^lother,  you  were  so  hot  a;,'ainst 
her.  I  waited  till  I  could  tell  you 
without  an;rerin;r  you  worse." 

"Ay,"  said  Catherine,  half  sadlv, 
half  bitterly,  "  like  mother,  like  daugh- 
ter ;  cowanlif-e  it  is  our  bane.  The 
others  I  whiles  bufiet ;  or  how  would 


THE  CLOISTKR  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


195 


the  house  fare?  but  did  you,  Kate, 
ever  have  harsh  word  or  look  from 
your  poor  mother,  that  you  —  Nay, 
I  will  not  have  ye  cry,  girl ;  ten  to 
one  ye  had  your  reason ;  so  rise  up, 
brave  heart,  and  tell  me  all,  better 
late  than  ne'er ;  and  lirst  and  fore- 
most when  ever,  and  how  ever,  wond 
you  to  Sevenbergen,  wi'  your  poor 
crutches,  and  I  not  know  ?  ' 

"  I  never  was  there  in  my  life ; 
and,  mammy  dear,  to  say  that  I  ne'er 
wished  to  see  her  that  I  will  not,  but 
I  ne'er  went,  nor  sought,  to  see 
her." 

"  There,  now,"  said  Catherine,  dis- 
putatively,  "  said  I  not  't  was  all  un- 
like my  girl  to  seek  her  unbeknown  to 
ine  !     Come  now,  for  I  'm  all  agog." 

"  Then,  thus  't  was.  It  came  to 
my  cars,  no  matter  how,  and  prithee, 
good  mother,  on  my  knees,  ne'er  ask 
me  how,  that  Gerard  was  a  prisoner 
in  the  Stadthouse  tower." 

"  Ah ! " 

"  By  father's  behest,  as  't  was  pre- 
tended." 

Catherine  uttered  a  sigh  that  was 
almost  a  moan.  "  Blacker  than  I 
thought,"  she  muttered  fointly. 

"  Giles  and  I  went  out  at  night  to 
bid  him  be  of  good  cheer.  And  there 
at  the  tower-foot  was  a  brave  lass, 
quite  strange  to  me,  I  vow,  on  the 
same  errand." 

"  Lookee  there  now,  Kate." 

"  At  first  we  did  properly  frighten 
one  another,  through  the  place  his 
bad  name,  and  our  poor  heads  being 
so  full  o'  devils,  and  we  whitened  a 
bit  in  moonshine.  But  next  moment, 
quo'  I,  '  You  are  Margaret ' ;  '  And 
you  are  Kate,'  quo',  she.  Think 
on  't." 

"  Did  one  ever  ?  —  'T  was  Gerard  ! 
He  will  have  been  talking  backwards 
and  forwards  of  thee  to  her,  and  her 
to  thee." 

In  return  for  this,  Kate  bestowed 
on  Catherine  one  of  the  prettiest  pres- 
ents in  nature,  —  the  composite  kiss  ; 
i.  e.  she  imprinted  on  her  cheek  a  sin- 
gle kiss,  which  said  :  — 

1.  Quite  correct. 


2.  Good,  clever  mother,  for  guess- 
ing so  right  and  quick. 

3.  How  sweet  for  us  twain  to  be  of 
one  mind  again  after  never  having 
been  otherwise. 

4.  Etc. 

"  Now,  then,  speak  thy  mind, 
child,  Gerard  is  not  here.  Alas,  what 
am  I  saying  ?  would  to  Heaven  he 
were." 

"  Well,  then,  she  is  comely,  and 
wrongs  her  picture  but  little." 

"  Eh,  dear  ;  liark  to  young  folk-!  I 
am  for  good  acts,  not  good  looks. 
Loves  she  my  boy  as  he  did  ought  to 
be  loved  ?  " 

"  Sevenbergen  is  fi\rther  from  the 
Stadthouse  than  we  are,"  said  Kate, 
thoughtfully ;  "  yet  she  was  there 
afore  me." 

Catherine  nodded  intelligence. 

"  Nay,  more,  she  had  got  him  out 
ere  I  came.  Ay,  down  from  the  cap- 
tives' tower." 

Catherine  shook  her  head  incredu- 
lously. "  The  highest  tower  for  miles ! 
It  is  not  feasible." 

"  'T  is  sooth  though.  She  and  an 
old  man  she  brought  found  means  and 
wit  to  send  him  up  a  rope.  There 
't  was  dangling  from  his  prison,  and 
our  Giles  went  up  it.  When  first  I 
saw  it  hang,  I  said,  '  This  is  gla- 
mour.' But  when  the  frank  lass's 
arms  came  round  me,  and  her  bosom 
did  beat  on  mine,  and  her  cheeks  wet, 
then  said  I,  "  'T  is  not  glamour  ;  't  is 
love.  For  she  is  not  like  me,  but 
lusty  and  able  ;  and,  dear  heart,  even 
I,  poor  frail  creature,  do  feel  some- 
times as  I  could  move  the  world  for 
them  I  love  ;  I  \oveyou,  mother.  And 
she  loves  Gerard." 

"  God  bless  her  for  it !  God  bless 
her !  " 

"  But." 

"  But  what.  Iamb  ?  " 

"  Her  love,  is  it  for  very  certain 
honest  ■?  'T  is  most  strange  ;  but 
that  very  thing  which  hath  warmed 
your  heart  hath  somewhat-  cooled 
mine  towards  her,  poor  soul.  She 
is  no  wife,  you  know,  mother,  when 
all  is  done." 


19G 


THE   CLOISTKK    AND   llIK   IIKARTII. 


"  Ilumjih  !  They  liavc  stood  at  th' 
6ltnr  to;,'«tlicT." 

"  Ay,  hut  they  wiiit  as  they  came, 
maid  and  hachelor." 

"  The  parson,  snith  he  so  ?  " 

"  Nay,  for  iliat  I  kntnv  not." 

"  Thi-n  I  'II  takr  no  man's  word  hut 
his  in  sueh  n  taiij;led  skein."  After 
some  retleetion  she  aihled,  "  N'athi-- 
less  art  ri>;ht,  pirl,  I  'II  to  Si'viiiUt- 
^ren  alone.  A  wifu  I  am,  hut  not  a 
slave.  We  are  all  in  the  dark  here, 
and  she  holds  theeh-w.  I  must  <|ues- 
tion  her,  and  no  one  hy  ;  least  of  all 
yon.  I  'II  n(tt  take  my  lilv  to  a  house 
wi'  a  sj)ot,  no,  not  to  a  palaec  o'  jj;old 
and  sijvir." 

The  more  Catherine  jjondcn-d  this 
eonviTsation,  the  more  shi'  felt  drawn 
towards  Marpiret,  ami  nioreov»T  "  she 
was  all  a;,'o;r  "  with  curiosity,  a  jiotent 
passion  with  us  all,  and  nearly  oin- 
ni|)<jtent  with  those  who,  like  Cathe- 
rine, do  not  slaki'  it  with  readinp.  At 
last,  one  fine  day  after  dinner,  she 
whisprnd  to  Kate,  "  KtTj)  the  house 
from  t:oiTiix  to  picrt'S,  an  ye  can  "  ; 
and  doiineil  ln-r  hcst  kirtle  ami  hoixl, 
and  her  scarlet  clocked  liose  and  her 
new  shcK's,  and  trud;.'cd  hriskly  otl' 
to  Sevenhergen,  trouhling  no  man's 
mule. 

When  she  pot  there  she  inquired 
where  Margaret  Brandt  lived.  Tlic 
first  |R'rson  she  lusked  shook  his  head, 
ami  said,  "  The  name  is  strange  to 
me."  She  went  a  little  farther  and 
asked  a  girl  of  alK)ut  fiftirn  who  was 
standing  at  a  door.  "  Father,"  said 
the  girl,  s|ieaking  into  the  hou.sc, 
"  here  is  another  after  that  miigician's 
daunhter. "  The  man  came  out  and 
told  Catherine  I'cter  Brandt's  cottage 
was  just  outside  the  town  on  the  east 
side.  "  You  may  sec  the  chimney 
hence  "  ;  and  he  pointed  it  out  to  her. 
"  But  you  will  not  hnd  them  there, 
nother  father  nor  daughter ;  they 
have  left  the  town  this  week,  bless 
you." 

"  Say  not  so,  good  mnn,  and  me 
walken  all  the  way  from  Tergou." 

"  From  Tergou  ?  then  you  must 
ha'  met  the  soldier." 


"What  soldier?  ay,  I  did  meet  ■ 
soldier." 

"  Well.thcti,  yon  soldier  wius  here 
seeking  that  selfsame  Margaret." 

"  iVy,  and  war  n't  a  mad  with  us 
Ikmiiusc  she  wjls  gone  '  "  put  in  the 
girl.  "  His  long  heard  and  her  check 
are  no  strangers,  I  warrant." 

"  Say  no  more  tlutn  ve  know,"  said 
Catherine,  shaqdy.  "You  arcyounp 
to  take  to  .slandering  your  elders. 
Stay  !  tell  me  more  ahout  this  archer, 
good  man." 

"  Nay,  I  know  no  more  than  that 
he  came  hither  .seiking  Margaret 
Brandt,  ami  I  told  him  she  and  lier 
father  had  made  a  moonlight  flit 
on 't  this  day  sennight,  and  that 
some  thought  the  Devil  had  flown 
away  with  them,  heing  magicians." 
'  And,'  says  he,  '  the  Devil  fly  away 
with  tliiv  for  thy  ill  news  '  ;  that  was 
my  thank.s.  '  But  I  douht  't  is  a  lie,' 
said  he.  '  An  you  think  so,'  said  I, 
'goandsi-e.'  'I  will,'  said  he,  and 
hurst  out  wi'  a  hantle  o'  gihherish, — 
my  wife  thinks  'twas  curses,  —  and 
hied  him  to  the  cottage.  Presently 
hack  a  conies,  and  sings  t'other 
tune.  '  You  were  right  and  I  was 
wrong,'  says  he,  and  shoves  a  silver 
coin  in  my  hantl.  Show  it  the  wife, 
some  of  ye  ;  thi'n  she  '11  l)elieve  mc. 
I  have  been  called  a  liar  once  to- 
day." 

"  It  needs  not,"  said  Catherine, 
inspecting  the  coin  all  the  same. 

"  And  he  sirmedfjuiet  and  saddikc, 
did  n't  he  now,  wench  ?  " 

"  That  a  <lid,"  said  the  younp  wo- 
man, warmly ;  "  and,  ilaine,  he  was 
just  as  pretty  a  man  as  ever  I  claj)j)wl 
eves  on.  Checks  like  a  rose,  and 
shining  licard,  and  eyes  in  his  head 
like  sloes." 

"  I  saw  he  was  well  bearded,"  said 
Catherine  ;  "  hut,  for  the  rest,  at  my 
age  I  scan  them  not  as  when  I  was 
young  and  fofdish.  But  he  seemed 
right  civil ;  dofled  his  Umnet  to  me 
a.s  I  had  l>een  a  queen,  and  I  did  drop 
him  my  best  reverence,  for  manners 
I  lK\<ret  manners.  But  little  I  wist  he 
1  had  been  her  liyht  o'  love,  and  most 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


197 


likely  the—  Who  bakes  for  this 
town  ? " 

The  man,  not  being  acquainted 
with  her,  opened  his  e3'es  at  tliis 
transition,  swift  and  smooth. 

"  Well,  dame,  there  be  two  ;  John 
Bush  and  Eric  Donaldson,  they  both 
bide  in  this  street." 

"  Then,   God  be  with  you,  good 

Eeople,"  said  she,  and  proceeded ; 
ut  her  sprightly  foot  came  flat  on 
the  ground  now,  and  no  longer  struck 
it  with  little  jerks  and  cocking  heel. 
She  asked  the  bakers  whether  Peter 
Brandt  had  gone  away  in  their  debt. 
Bush  said  they  were  not  customers. 
Donaldson  said,  "  Not  a  stiver ;  his 
daughter  had  come  round  and  paid 
him  the  very  night  they  went.  Did 
n't  believe  they  owed  a  copper  in  the 
town."  So  Catherine  got  all  the  infor- 
mation of  that  kind  she  wanted  with 
very  little  trouble. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  what  sort  this 
Margaret  was "? "  said  she,  as  she 
turned  to  go. 

"  Well,  somewhat  too  reserved  for 
my  taste.  I  like  a  chatty  customer, 
—  when  I  'm  not  too  busy.  But  she 
bore  a  high  character  for  being  a  good 
daughter." 

"  'T  is  no  small  praise.  A  well- 
looking  lass,  I  am  told  ?  " 

"  Why,  whence  come  you,  wife  ?  " 

"  From  Tergou." 

"  0,  ay.  Well,  you  shall  judge ; 
the  lads  'clept  her  '  the  beauty  of 
Sevenbergen ' ;  the  lasses  did  scout 
it  merrily,  and  terribly  pulled  her 
to  pieces,  and  found  so  many  faults 
no  two  could  agree  where  the  fault 
lay." 

"  That  is  enough,"  said  Catherine. 
"  I  see  the  bakers  are  no  fools  in 
Sevenbergen,  and  the  young  women 
no  shallower  than  in  other  burghs." 

She  bought  a  manchet  of  bread, 
partly  out  of  sympathy  and  justice 
(she  kept  a  shop),  partly  to  show  her 
household  how  much  better  bread  she 
gave  them  daily,  and  returned  to  Ter- 
gou dejected. 

Kate  naet  her  outside  the  town  with 
beaming  eyes. 


"  Well,  Kate,  lass,  it  is  a  happy 
thing  I  went ;  I  am  heart-broken. 
Gerard  has  l)eeu  sore  abused.  The 
child  is  none  of  ourn,  nor  the  mother 
from  this  liour." 

"  Alas,  mother,  I  fiithom  not  your 
meaning." 

"Ask  me  no  more,  girl,  but  never 
mention  her  name  to  mc  again. 
That  is  all." 

Kate  acquiesced  with  a  humble 
sigh,  and  they  went  home  together. 

They  found  a  soldier  seated  tran- 
quilly by  their  fire.  The  moment 
they  entered  the  door,  he  rose,  and 
saluted  them  civilly.  They  stood  and 
looked  at  liini,  Kate  with  some  little 
surprise,  but  Catherine  with  a  great 
deal,  and  with  rising  indignation. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

Denys,  placed  in  the  middle  of  his 
companions,  lest  he  should  be  so  mad 
as  attempt  escape,  was  carried  oif  in 
an  agony  of  grief  and  remorse.  For 
his  sake  Gerard  had  abandoned  the 
German  route  to  Rome ;  and  what 
was  his  reward  ?  left  all  alone  in  the 
centre  of  Burgundy.  This  was  the 
thought  which  maddened  Denys 
most,  and  made  him  now  rave  at  heav- 
en and  earth,  now  fall  into  a  gloomy 
silence  so  savage  and  sinister  that  it 
was  deemed  prudent  to  disarm  him. 
They  caught  up  their  leader  just  out- 
side the  town,  and  the  whole  caval- 
cade drew  up  and  baited  at  the 
"  Tete  d'Or." 

The  young  landlady,  though  much 
occupied  with  the  count,  and  still  more 
with  the  Bastard,  caught  sight  of 
Denys,  and  asked  hira  somewhat 
anxiously  what  had  become  of  his 
young  companion. 

Denys,  with  a  burst  of  grief,  told 
her  all,  and  prayed  her  to  send  after 
Gerard.  "  Now  he  is  parted  from  me, 
he  will  maybe  listen  to  my  rede," 
said  he ;  "  poor  wretch,  he  loves  not 
solitude." 

The  landlady  gave  a  toss  of  he/ 


198 


Tin:   CLOISTKK    AND   THK    MF.ARTH, 


lieail.     "  I   trow    I   have   Ikitj    soine- 
wtiiit   o\(T-kiiiil    iilrt'iMlv,"   Miiil   she, 
nml  turiit'd  riulicr  rctl. 
"  You  will  not  i  " 

"  ^"'  ^" 

"  Then  — "    Anil  la-  [wund  ii  volU-y 

of  cursos  and  alm^e  ii|k)ii  Irt. 

Slif  ttiriic<i  liLT  liiu'k  upon  liitn  nml 
went  otV  whim]HTinir,  and  savin;;  she 
was  not  usttl  to  U'  cursed  at ;  and 
ordeR'd  hir  hind  to  saddle  two 
niuleii. 

J)eny8  went  north  with  his  tnK)[), 
mute  and  dnnipin;;  over  his  saddle, 
and,  quite  unknown  to  iiim,  that 
veracious  youn;;  lady  made  an  eques- 
trian toilet  in  only  forty  minutes,  she 
Ixinj;  reallv  in  a  hurry,  and  sj)urnd 
away  with  lier  ser^•ant  in  the  o|)j)Osite 
direction. 

At  dark,  after  a  lont:  march,  the 
HiL^tard  ami  his  men  reai-hed  "  the 
White  Hart."  'I'heir  arrival  cau-scd 
a  pnnli^'iou.H  hustle,  and  it  waj*  oomo 
time  l)efon;  Monon  discovered  her  old 
friend  amonp  »<)  many.  When  .she 
ilid,  she  showed  it  only  l)y  heightened 
color.  She  diil  not  claim  the  ae(|uaint- 
ancc.  The  jMK>r  soul  wjw  already  l)c- 
pnninp  to  scorn 

"The  baac  decrees  by  which  the  dlil  oioend." 

Denys  .saw,  hut  could  not  smile. 
The  inn  reminded  him  too  much  of 
(rirard. 

Kre  the  ni^'ht  closeil  the  wind 
c)ian;re<l.  She  looked  into  the  room 
and  iK-ckoiu'd  him  with  her  finp>r. 
lie  rose  sulkily,  and  his  j^uard.-t  with 
him. 

"  Nay,  I  would  speak  a  word  to 
tlioe  in  private."  She  drew  him  to  a 
corner  of  tlio  room,  and  there  asked 
him,  under  her  hrealh,  would  he  do 
her  a  kindness. 

lie  answered  out  loud,  "  No,  he 
would  not,  he  was  not  in  the  vein  to  do 
kindnesses  to  man  or  womaji.  If  he 
did  a  kindness  it  slunild  he  to  a  dog  ; 
and  nut  that  if  ho  could  liclp  it." 

"  Alas,  good  archer,  I  did  you  one 
eftsoons,  you  and  your  pretty  com- 
ratle,"  .said  Manon,  humbly. 


"  You  did,  damo,  you  did  ;  well, 
then,  for  liis  sake,  what  is  't  to  ilo  >  " 

"  Thou  knowest  mv  story.  1  had 
U-en  unfortunate.  Now  I  am  wor- 
shipful. Hut  a  woman  did  cast  him 
in  my  teeth  this  day.  And  so  'twill 
Ih-  ever  while  he  hangs  there.  I 
would  have  him  ta'cn  down  ;  weJl-a- 
da_N  !  " 

•■  With  all  n»y  lieart." 

"  And  none  dare  I  ask  hut  thi-o. 
Will  do 't  '  " 

"  Not  I,  even  were  I  not  a  pris- 
oner." 

On  this  stern  refusal  the  tender 
Mamin  sighed,  and  cla-sju-d  her  palms 
togither  des|»onilently.  Deiiys  told 
her  she  need  not  fret.  There  wert) 
soldiers  of  a  lower  stamp  who  would 
not  make  two  bites  of  such  a  cherry. 
It  was  a  mere  uiatler  of  money  ;  if  'he 
could  tind  two  angols,  he  would  tind 
two  sulilit  i-  to  do  the  tlirtv  work  of 
the  "  White  llaiU" 

This  was  not  very  palatable.  How- 
ever, reflecting  that  soldiers  were  ...rd* 
of  pa.s.'^agc,  drinking  here  to  night, 
knocked  on  the  head  there  tt>morrow, 
she  said,  st)ftly,  "  Send  them  out  to 
me.  liut  prithee  tell  them  that  't  is 
for  one  that  is  my  frieticl  ;  let  them 
ju>t  think  't  is  for  me.  1  should  sink 
into  th'  earth  ;  times  are  changed." 

Dcnys  found  warriors  glad  to  win 
an  angel  apiece  so  easily.  He  sent 
them  out,  and,  instantly  dismissing 
the  subject  with  contempt,  sat  brood- 
ing on  his  lost  friend. 

Manon  and  the  warriors  soon  came 
to  a  general  understamling.  But  what 
Were  they  to  do  with  the  l>o<ly  when 
taken  down  ?  She  murraurerl,  "  The 
river  is  nigh  the  —  the  —  j)lace." 

"  fling  him  in,  eh  ?  " 

"  Nay,  nay ;  be  not  so  cruel !  Could 
yc  not  put  him — gently  —  in  —  with 
something  weitrhty  ?  " 

She  must  luive  been  thinking  on 
the  subject  in  detail  ;  for  she  was  not 
one  to  whom  ideas  came  quickly. 

All  was  spceilily  agrec(l,  except  the 
time  of  payment.  The  mail-clad 
itched  for  it,  and  sought  it  in  ad- 
vance.    Manon  demurred  to  that. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


199 


What,  did  she  doubt  their  word  ? 
then  let  her  come  along  with  them,  or 
watch  them  at  a  distance. 

"  Me  ?  "  said  Manon,  with  horror. 
"I  would  liever  die  than  see  it 
done." 

"  Which  yet  you  would  have  done." 

"  Ay,  for  sore  is  my  need.  Times 
are  changed."  She  had  already  for- 
gotten her  precept  to  Denys. 

An  hour  later  the  disagreeable 
relict  of  caterpillar  existence  ceased 
to  canker  the  worshipful  matron's 
public  life,  and  the  grim  eyes  of  the 
past  to  cast  malignant  glances  down 
into  a  white  hind's  clover  field. 

Total.  She  made  the  landlord  an 
average  wife,  and  a  prime  house-dog, 
and  outlived  everybody. 

Her  troops,  when  they  returned 
from  executing  with  mediajval  na- 
ivete the  precept  "  Off  wi'  the  auld 
love,"  received  a  shock.  They  found 
the  market-place  black  with  groups  ; 
it  had  been  empty  an  hour  ago.  Con- 
science smote  them.  This  came  of 
meddling  with  the  dead.  However, 
the  bolder  of  the  two,  encouraged  by 
the  darkness,  stole  forward  alone,  and 
slyly  mingled  with  a  group  ;  he  soon 
returned  to  his  companion,  saying,  in 
a  tone  of  reproach  not  strictly  reason- 
able :  — 

"  Ye  born  fool,  it  is  only  a  miracle." 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

Letters  of  fire  on  the  church 
wall  had  just  inquired,  with  an  ap- 
pearance of  genuine  curiosity,  why 
there  was  no  mass  for  the  duke  in  this 
time  of  trouble.  The  supernatural 
expostulation  had  been  seen  by  many, 
and  had  gradually  ftided,  leaving  the 
spectators  glued  there  gaping.  The 
upshot  was  that  the  corporation,  not 
choosing  to  be  behind  the  angelic 
powers  in  loyalty  to  a  temporal  sov- 
ereign, invested  freely  in  masses.  By 
"*  this  an  old  friend  of  ours,  the  cure, 
profited  in  hard  cash,  for  which  he 
9* 


had  a  very  pretty  taste.  But  for  this 
I  would  not  of  course  have  deta^ined 
you  over  so  trite  an  occurrence  4s  a 
miracle. 

Denys  begged  for  his  arms  ;  "  Why 
disgrace  him  as  well  as  break  his 
heart  ?  " 

"  Then  swear  on  the  cross  of  thy 
sword  not  to  leave  the  Bastard's 
service  imtil  the  sedition  shall  be  put 
down."  He  yielded  to  necessity,  and 
delivered  three  volleys  of  oaths,  and 
recovered  his  arms  and  liberty. 

The  troops  halted  at  "  The  Three 
Fish,"  and  Marion,  at  sight  of  him, 
cried  out,  "I'm  out  of  luck;  who 
would  have  thought  to  see  you 
again  ?  "  then  seeing  he  was  sad,  and 
rather  hurt  than  amused  at  this  blunt 
jest,  she  asked  him  what  was  amiss. 
He  told  her.  She  took  a  bright  view 
of  the  case.  Gerard  was  too  hand- 
some and  well-behaved  to  come  to 
harm.  The  women,  too,  would  al- 
ways be  on  his  side.  Moreover,  it 
was  clear  that  things  must  either  go 
well  or  ill  with  him.  In  the  former 
case  he  would  strike  in  with  some 
good  company  going  to  Rome;  in 
the  latter  he  would  return  home,  per- 
haps be  there  before  his  friend  ;  "  for 
you  have  a  trifle  of  fighting  to  do  in 
Flanders,  by  all  accounts."  She  then 
brought  him  his  gold  pieces,  and 
steadily  refused  to  accept  one,  though 
he  urged  her  again  and  again.  Denys 
was  somewhat  convinced  by  her  ar- 
gument, because  she  concurred  with 
his  own  wishes,  and  was  also  cheered 
a  little  by  finding  her  so  honest.  It 
made  him  think  a  little  better  of  that 
world  in  which  his  poor  little  friend 
was  walking  alone. 

Foot-soldiers  in  small  bodies,  down 
to  twos  and  threes,  were  already  on 
the  road,  making  lazily  towards  Flan- 
ders, many  of  them  penniless,  but 
passed  from  town  to  town  by  the  bail- 
iifs,  with  orders  for  food  and  lodging 
on  the  innkeepers. 

Anthony  of  Burgundy  overtook 
numbers  of  these,  and  gathered  them 
under  his  standard,  30  that  he  entered 


200 


TlIK   CLOISTER   AND   THK   HKAHTH. 


Flanders  at  the  head  of  six  hundred 
iiiL'ii.  ( )ii  crossiim  the  I'roiitier  he  was 
met  hy  his  hrother  Bahlwvu,  witli 
uieii,  anus,  and  provisions ;  he  or- 
fjani/ed  liis  wliole  force,  and  marched 
on  in  huttle  array  throu;;li  several 
towns,  not  only  without  impediment, 
lint  witli  iXTvM  acclamations.  This 
loMklty  called  forth  comments  not 
altogether  pracious. 

"  'I'his  relM-liion  of  ours  is  a  hitc," 
fjrow  led  a  soldier  called  Simon,  who 
had  elected  himself  Denys's  comrade. 

Denys  said  nothing:,  hut  made  a 
little  vow  to  St.  Mars  to  shoot  this 
,\iithony  of  Hiir^uudy  dead,  should 
the  relK*llion,  that  had  eo»t  him  Ge- 
rard, prove  no  rehellion. 

That  afteriKM)!!  they  came  in  sij,'ht 
of  a  stron;;ly  fortified  town  ;  and  a 
whisper  went  throu;:h  the  little  army 
tliat  this  was  a  disaffected  place. 

Hut,  when  they  came  in  si;;ht,  the 
pn-at  pate  stood  ojH'n,  and  the  towers 
that  Hiuiked  it  on  each  side  were 
manneil  with  a  sinple  sentinel  apiive. 
So  the  atlvancinp  fone  somewhat 
hroke  their  array  and  marched  care- 
lesslv. 

When  thoy  were  within  a  furlonp, 
the  drawhridpe  across  the  moat  rose 
slowly  anil  cri-akinp  till  it  stood  verti- 
cal apainst  the  fort,  and,  the  very 
moment  it  settled  into  this  warlike 
attitude,  down  rattled  the  portcullis 
at  the  pate,  and  the  towers  and  cur- 
tains hristled  with  lances  and  cross- 
Ijows. 

A  stem  hum  ran  throuph  the  Bas- 
tard's front  nuik  and  spread  to  the 
rear. 

"  Halt !  "  cried  he,  and  the  word 
went  down  the  line,  and  they  halted. 
"  Herald,  to  the  pate  !  "  A  pursui- 
vant spurred  out  of  the  ranks,  and, 
haltinp  twenty  yards  from  the  pate, 
raised  his  huplc  with  his  herald's  thip 
hanpinp  down  rouml  it,  and  hlew  a 
summons.  A  tall  tipvire  in  brazen 
annor  ajjpcarcd  over  the  pate.  A  few 
liery  words  passed  between  him  and 
the  herald,  which  were  not  audible, 
but  their  import  clear,  for  the  herald 
blew  a  single  keen  and  threatening 


note  at  the  walls,  and  camo  pallopinX 
back  with  war  in  his  face.  The  Uoa- 
tard  movetl  out  of  the  line  to  ntect 
him,  and  their  heads  had  not  In-en  to 
pettier  two  seconds  ere  he  turned  la 
his  saddle  and  shouted,  '•  rione«rs,  to 
the  van  !  "  ami  in  a  moment  hedpwj 
were  levelled,  and  the  force  took  the 
hehl,  and  cncamiH-d  just  out  of  shot 
froni  the  walls ;  and  away  went 
mounte<l  officers  tlyinp  south,  east, 
and  west,  to  the  friendly  towns,  for 
catapults,  palisades,  nuintelets,  raw 
hides,  tarbarrels,  i-arjM'iiters,  provis- 
ions, and  all  the  nuitcrials  fur  a  sicpc. 

The  bripht  {H-rsjKCtive  miphlilj 
chwretl  t)ne  driMtpinp  .soldier.  At  the 
first  clanp  of  the  jKjrtcullis  his  eyes 
briphtened  and  his  tem|ile  flushed ; 
and  when  the  herald  came  back  with 
battle  in  his  e\e  he  saw  it  in  a  mo- 
ment, and  for  tlie  first  time  this  many 
days  crieil,  "  Counjpe,  tout  Ic  mondo, 
le  (liable  est  mort." 

If  that  preat  warrior  heard,  how  he 
must  have  grinned. 


CHAPTER   XLVI. 

The  besiepers  cncami)od  a  furlong 
from  the  walls,  and  made  mails,  kej)! 
their  pikemen  in  camp  ready  for  an 
assault  when  j)racticable,  and  sent 
forward  their  sap|H.'rs,  pioneers,  cata- 
pultiers,  and  cross-lK>w-men.  Theso 
opened  a  siepe  by  filling  the  moat, 
and  mining  or  breaching  the  wall, 
etc.  And,  a-s  much  of  their  work  had 
to  be  done  under  close  fire  of  arrows, 
nuarrels,  bolts,  .stones,  and  little  nx-ks, 
tne  alK)ve  artists  "  had  need  of  a  hun- 
dred eyes,"  and  acted  in  concert  with 
a  vipiiancc,  and  an  amount  of  indi- 
vidual intelligence,  daring,  and  skill, 
that  made  a  siepc  very  intiresting, 
and  even  amusing,  to  lookers  on. 

The  first  tliinp  they  did  was  to  ad- 
vance their  carjienters  Ixhind  rolling 
mantelets,  to  erect  a  stockade  high 
and  strong  on  the  very  edge  of 
the  moat.  Some  lives  were  lost  at 
this  but  not  many  ;  fur  a  strong  forc« 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


201 


of  cross-bow-men,  including  Denys, 
rolled  their  mantelets  up  and  shot 
over  the  workmen's  heads  at  every 
besieged  who  showed  his  nose,  and  at 
every  loop-hole,  ai-row-slit,  or  other 
aperture  which  commanded  the  par- 
ticular spot  the  carpenters  happened 
to  be  upon.  Covered  by  their  con- 
densed fire,  these  soon  raised  a  high 
palisade  between  them  and  the  ordi- 
nary missiles  from  the  pierced  ma- 
sonry. 

But  the  besieged  expected  this,  and 
ran  out  at  night  their  hoards,  or 
wooden  pent-houses  on  the  top  of  the 
curtains.  The  curtains  were  built 
with  square  holes  near  the  top  to  re- 
ceive the  beams  that  supported  these 
structures,  the  true  defence  of  medi- 
aeval forts,  from  which  the  besieged 
delivered  their  missiles  with  far  more 
freedom  and  variety  of  range  than 
they  could  shoot  through  the  oblique 
but  immovable  loop-holes  of  the  cur- 
tain, or  even  through  the  sloping  cren- 
elets  of  the  higher  towers.  On  this 
the  besiegers  brought  up  mangonels, 
and  set  them  hurling  huge  stones  at 
these  wood-works  and  battering  them 
to  pieces.  Contemporaneously  they 
built  a  triangular  wooden  tower  as 
high  as  the  curtain,  and  kept  it  ready 
for  use,  and  just  out  of  shot. 

This  was  a  terrible  sight  to  the  be- 
sieged. These  wooden  towers  had 
taken  many  a  town.  They  began  to 
mine  underneath  that  part  of  the 
moat  the  tower  stood  frowning  at, 
and  made  other  preparations  to  give 
it  a  warm  reception.  The  besiegers 
also  mined,  but  at  another  part,  their 
object  being  to  get  under  the  square 
barbican  and  throw  it  down.  All  this 
time  Denys  was  behind  his  mantelet 
with  another  arbalestrier,  protecting 
the  workmen  and  making  some  ex- 
cellent shots.  These  ended  by  earn- 
ing him  the  esteem  of  an  unseen 
archer,  who  every  now  and  then  sent 
a  winged  compliment  quivering  into 
his  mantelet.  One  came  and  stuck 
witliin  an  inch  of  the  narrow  slit 
through  which  Denys  was  squinting 
at   the  moment.     "  Peste,"  cried  he, 


"  you  shoot  well,  my  friend.  Coma 
forth  and  receive  my  congratulations  ! 
Shall  merit  such  as  thine  hide  its 
head  1  Comrade,  it  is  one  of  those 
cursed  Englishmen,  with  his  hal^Il 
shaft.  I  '11  not  die  till  I  've  had  a  snot 
at  London  wall." 

On  the  besieged's  side  was  a  figure 
that  soon  attracted  great  notice  by 
promenading  under  fire.  It  was  a  tail 
knight,  clad  in  complete  brass,  and 
carrying  a  light  but  prodigiously  long 
lance,  with  which  he  directed  the 
movements  of  the  besieged.  And, 
when  any  disaster  befell  the  besiegers, 
this  long  knight  and  his  tall  lance 
were  pretty  sure  to  be  concerned  in  it. 

My  young  readers  will  say,  "  Why 
did  not  Denys  shoot  him  1 " 

Denys  did  shoot  him,  every  day 
of  his  life  ;  other  arbalestricrs  shot 
him.  Archers  shot  him.  Everybody 
shot  him.  He  was  there  to  be  shot, 
apparently.  But  the  abomination  was, 
he  did  not  mind  being  shot.  Nay, 
worse,  he  got  at  last  so  demoralized  as 
not  to  seem  to  know  when  he  was  shot. 
He  walked  his  battlements  under  fire, 
as  some  stout  skipper  paces  his  deck 
in  a  suit  of  Flushing,  calmly  oblivious 
of  the  April  drops  that  fall  on  his 
woollen  armor.  At  last  the  besiegers 
got  spiteful, and  would  not  waste  any 
more  good  steel  on  him,  but  cursed 
him  and  his  impervious  coat  of  mail. 

He  took  these  missiles  like  the  rest. 

Gunpowder  has  spoilt  war.  War 
was  always  detrimental  to  the  solid 
interests  of  mankind ;  but  in  old 
times  it  was  good  for  something ;  it 
painted  well,  sang  divinely,  furnished 
Iliads.  But  invisible  butchery,  under 
a  pall  of  smoke  a  furlong  thick,  who 
is  any  the  better  for  that  ?  Poet  with 
his  note-book  may  repeat,  "  Suave 
etiam  belli  certamina  magna  tueri " ; 
but  the  sentiment  is  hollow  and  savors 
of  cuckoo.  You  can't  tueri  anything 
but  a  horrid  row.  He  did  n't  say 
"  Suave  etiam  ingentem  caliginem 
tueri,  per  eampos  instructam." 

They  managed  better  in  the  middle 
ages. 


202 


THE   CLOISTKK   AND  THE   HEAKTR 


This  sicfrc  was  a  small  affair :  hut,  I 
Buc'h  a.-(  it  was,  a  writrr  or  minstrel  I 
coulil  str  it,  and  turn  an  lioiu'st  pon- 
n_v  i)y  sinj,'inK  it ;  so  far  then  the  s|)ort  I 
w;ks  ri-asonablf,  and  served  an  end.      | 
It  was  a  bright  day,  dear,  hut  not 
(|uite    frosty.       The    efforts    of    the 
iK'siegiuf;     force     were     concentrated 
af,'ainst  a  s|>nce  of  al><>ut  two  hundreil 
and  lifty  yards,   contjiinin^  two  cur- 
tains and   two  towers,  one  of  which 
was   the   square  harliican  ;    the  other 
had  a  j)ointed  roof  that  was  huilt  to 
overlap,  resting,'  on  a  stone  machico- 
lade,  and  liy  this  mians  a  row  of  dan- 
j^erous  crenelets  hetween  the  roof  and 
the   masonry   ^jrinned    down    at   the 
nearest  assailants,  and  looke<l  not  very 
unlike  the  grinders  of  a  modern  fri- 
gate with  each  j)ort  nearly  closed.  The 
curtains   were  overlapiK-d  with  jK-nt- 
houses,    somewhat    shattered    hy    the 
mant;onels,     trehuchets,     and     other 
sliuginj;  engines  of  the  l)esie<rcrs.     <  )n 
tho  bcsie;;ers'  edj^e  of  the  moat  was 
what  seemed  at  first  si;;ht  a  f;ipintie 
arsenal,    longer    than    it    was    hroad, 
pcojded  hy  human  ants,  and  full  of 
Dusy,  honest  industry,  and  dis|)layinj; 
all  the  various  mcdianit  al  science  of 
the  ajj'c  in   full  ojKTation.     Here  the 
lever  at  work,   there  the  winch  and 
pulley,  here  the  balance,  there  the  cap- 
stan.     Kverywhere    heaps  of  stones, 
and  piles  of  fiu^cines,  and  rows  of  fire- 
barrels.     Mantelets  roliin<r,  the  ham- 
mer tappiii;.'  all  day,  horses  and  carts 
in  endless  succession  rattling  up  with 
materials.     Only,  on    looking  closer 
into  the  hive  of  industry-,  you  might 
observe  that  arrows  were  constantly 
flying  to  and  fro,  that  the  cranes  did 
not  tenderly  deposit  their  masses  of 
stone,  but  flung  them  with  an  indiffer- 
ence to  yropcrty,  though  on  scientific 
principles,  and  that  among  the  tubs 
full  of  arrows,  and  the  tar-liarrels  and 
the  beams,  the  fagots,  and  other  uten- 
sils, here  and  there  a  workman  or  a 
soldier  lay  flatter  than  is  usual  in  lim- 
ited naps'  and  something  more  or  less 
feathered  stuck  in   them,  and  blood, 
and  other  essentials,  oozed  out. 
At  the  edge  of  the  moat  opposite 


the  wooden  tower,  a  strong  ](0n& 
house  which  they  calU d  "  a  cat " 
might  Ik-  seen  stealing  towards  tho 
curtain  and  gradually  filling  up  the 
moat  with  fascines  and  nibbish,  which 
the  workmen  flung  (jut  at  its  mouth. 
It  was  advanced  by  two  .sets  of  ropes 
])assing  round  pulleys,  an<l  each 
worked  by  a  windlass  at  some  distance 
from  the  cat.  The  knight  burnt  tlie 
first  cat  by  flinging  bhuing  tar-barrels 
on  it.  So  the  besiegers  made  the  nH)f 
of  this  one  very  steep,  and  covered  it 
with  raw  hides,  and  the  tar-lmrrels 
could  not  harm  it.  Then  tho  knight 
made  signs  with  his  spear,  and  a  little 
trebuchet  Uhind  the  walls  U-gan 
dropping  stones  just  dear  of  the  wall 
into  the  moat,  and  at  last  they  got  tho 
range,  and  a  stone  went  dean  through 
the  roof  of  the  eat,  and  made  an  ugly 
hole. 

Hahlwyn  of  Burgundy  saw  this, 
and,  losing  his  temper,  ordered  tho 
great  catajiult  that  was  battering  tho 
wood-work  of  the  curtain  opposite  it 
to  Ik-  turned  and  levelled  slantwise 
at  this  invulnerable  knight.  Denys 
and  his  Knglishman  went  to  dinner. 
'I'hese  two  worthies,  Uing  eternally 
on  the  watch  for  one  another,  had 
made  a  sort  of  distant  ac<iuaintancc, 
and  conversed  by  signs,  especially  on 
a  topic  that  in  jHjjice  or  war  maintains 
the  sanii'  imjiortance.  Sometimes  I)c- 
nys  would  put  a  piece  of  bread  on 
the  top  of  his  mantelet,  and  then  tho 
archer  would  hang  something  of  the 
kind  t>ut  hy  a  string  ;  or  the  order  of 
invitation  would  be  reversed.  Any 
way,  they  always  managed  to  dine  to- 
gether. 

And  now  the  engineers  proceeded 
to  the  unusual  step  of  slinging  fifty- 
pound  stones  at  an  individual.* 

This  catapult  was  a  scientific,  sim- 
ple, and  beautiful  engine,  and  very 
ett'ective  in  vertical  fire  at  the  short 
ranges  of  that  ])criod. 

Imagine  a  fir-tree  cut  down,  and  set 
to  turn  round  a  horizontal  axis  on 
lofty  uprights,  but  not  in  equilibrio ; 

*  Type  of  tfie  Knglisli  press  oombiniDg  M 
caDDonade  a  single  autlior. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


203 


throe  fourths  of  the  tree  being  on  the 
hither  side.  At  the  shorter  and 
thicker  end  of  the  tree  was  fastened  a 
weight  of  half  a  ton.  This  but-end 
just  before  the  discharge  pointed  to- 
wards the  enemy.  By  means  of  a 
powerful  winch  the  long,  tapering  por- 
tion of  the  tree  was  forced  down  to 
the  very  ground,  and  fastened  by  a 
bolt,  and  the  stone  placed  in  a  sling 
attached  to  the  tree's  nose.  But  this 
process  of  course  raised  the  but-end 
with  its  huge  weight  high  in  the  air, 
and  kept  it  there  struggling  in  vain  to 
come  down.  The  bolt  was  now 
drawn  ;  gravity,  an  institution  which 
flourished  even  then,  resumed  its 
sway,  the  short  end  swung  furiously 
do^vn,  the  long  end  went  as  furiously 
round  up,  and  at  its  highest  elevation 
flung  the  huge  stone  out  of  the  sling 
with  a  tremendous  jerk.  In  this  case 
the  huge  mass  so  flung  missed  the 
knight,  but  came  dowii  near  him  on 
the  pent-house,  and  went  through  it 
like  paper,  making  an  awful  gap  in 
roof  and  floor.  Through  the  latter 
fell  out  two  inanimate  objects,  the 
stone  itself  and  the  mangled  body  of 
a  besieger  it  had  struck.  They  fell 
down  the  high  curtain  side,  down, 
down,  and  struck  almost  together  the 
sullen  waters  of  the  moat,  which 
closed  bubbling  on  them,  and  kept 
both  the  stone  and  the  bone  two  hun- 
dred years,  till  cannon  mocked  those 
oft-perturbed  waters,  and  civilization 
dried  them. 

"Aha!  a  good  shot,"  cried  Bald- 
wyn  of  Burgundy. 

The  tall  knight  retired.  The  be- 
siegers hooted  him. 

He  reappeared  on  the  platform  of 
the  barbican,  his  helmet  being  just 
visible  above  the  parapet.  He  seemed 
very  busy,  and  soon  an  enonnous 
Turkish  catapult  made  its  appearance 
on  the  platform,  and,  aided  by  the  ele- 
vation at  which  it  was  planted,  flung 
a  twenty-pound  stone  two  hundred 
and  forty  yards  in  the  air ;  it  bounded 
after  that,  and  knocked  some  dirt  into 
the  Lord  Anthony's  eye,  and  made 
him  swear.     The  next  stone  struck  a 


horse  that  was  bringing  up  a  sheaf  of 
arrows  in  a  cart,  bowled  the  horse 
over  dead  like  a  rabbit,  and  spilt  the 
cart.  It  was  then  turned  at  the  be- 
siegers' wooden  tower,  supposed  to  be 
out  of  shot.  Sir  Turk  slung  stones 
cut  with  shai'p  edges  on  purpose,  and 
sti'uck  it  repeatedly,  and  broke  it  in 
several  places.  The  besiegers  turned 
tsvo  of  their  slinging  engines  on  this 
monster,  and  kept  constantly  slinging 
smaller  stones  on  to  the  platform  of 
the  barbican,  and  killed  two  of  the 
engineers.  But  the  Turk  disdained 
to  retort.  He  flung  a  forty-pound 
stone  on  to  the  besiegers'  great  cata- 
pult, and,  hitting  it  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  axis,  knocked  the  whole 
structure  to  pieces  and  sent  the  engi- 
neers skipping  and  yelling. 

In  the  afternoon,  as  Simon  was 
running  back  to  his  mantelet  from  a 
palisade  where  he  had  been  shooting 
at  the  besieged,  Denys,  peeping 
through  his  slit,  saw  the  poor  fellow 
suddenly  stare  and  hold  out  his  arms, 
then  roll  on  his  face,  and  a  feathered 
arrow  protruded  from  his  back.  The 
archer  showed  himself  a  moment  to 
enjoy  his  skill.  It  was  the  English- 
man. Denys,  already  prepared,  shot 
his  bolt,  and  the  murderous  archer 
staggered  away  wounded.  But  poor 
Simon  never  moved.  His  wars  were 
over. 

"  I  am  unlucky  in  my  comrades," 
said  Denys. 

The  next  morning  an  unwelcome 
sight  greeted  the  besieged.  The  eat 
was  covered  with  mattresses  and  raw 
hides,  and  fast  filling  up  the  moat. 
The  knight  stoned  it,  but  in  vain  ; 
flung  burning  tar-barrels  on  it,  but  in 
vain.  Then  with  his  own  hands  he 
let  down  by  a  rope  a  bag  of  burning 
sulphur  and  pitch,  and  stunk  them 
out.  But  Baldwyn,  armed  like  a 
lobster,  ran,  and,  bounding  on  the 
roof,  cut  the  string,  and  the  work 
went  on.  Then  the  knight  sent  fresh 
engineers  into  the  mine,  and  under- 
mined the  place,  and  underpinned  it 
with  beams,  and  covered  the  beam? 
thickly  with  grease  and  tar. 


204 


Tin:   {LOISTKI!    AND   THK    MKAIM!!. 


At  brenk  of  >h\\  the  moat  was 
filKil,  mill  till-  \v(((i(l<  n  towir  l>oi;nn  to 
iiin\f  oil  it-*  wlii'i-ls  towanis  II  part  of 
thr  curtain  on  which  two  ratapults 
wcTO  aln-ailv  itlayiiiir  to  lin-arh  the 
hoanls  and  rlear  the  way.  "riiere 
was  soiiii'thinf^  awful  aiid  iiia^rical  in 
its  ajipronch  without  visihli-  a^fiicy, 
for  it  was  (Irivni  hv  internal  rolK-rs 
worked  l>_v  loverane.  <  >n  the  top  wii.t 
a  piatfonn  where  sfjMxl  the  first  ns- 
saiiin;;  party.  i)rot«'cte<l  in  fnmt  hv 
the  (lrawl»ri<li,'e  of  the  turret,  which 
8to<M!  vertical  till  lowered  on  to  the 
wall  ;  hut  U'tter  j>roteeted  by  ftdl 
units  of  annor.  The  Ixsieire*!  slun^ 
at  the  tower,  and  struck  it  often,  hut 
in  vain.  It  was  well  defendetl  with 
mattresses  and  hides,  ami  presently 
was  at  the  ed;;e  of  the  moat.  The 
knight  hnile  tire  the  mine  undcmeuth 
it. 

Then  the  Turkish  en^rine  flunu  n 
Rtoiie  of  half  n  liuiidreil-wei^'ht  ri^ht 
nmon^rst  the  kni^'ht.s,  and  carried  two 
away  with  it  off  the  tower  on  to  tlie 
j.luin.  One  lay  and  writhed  ;  the  oth- 
er neither  move<l  nor  spake. 

Ami  now  the  In'siei^in;;  catapults 
flun^,'  hla/inj;  tar-harrels,  aiul  lired  the 
hoariU  on  lK)th  sides,  and  the  lus.sailants 
ran  up  the  laddiTs  lichind  the  tower, 
and  lowered  the  drawbridge  on  to  the 
haltered  curtain,  while  the  catapults  in 
concert  tlun;:  tur-harrels  and  tired  the 
adioinin^  works  to  disli>d;re  the  de- 
fenders. The  armed  jnen  on  the  plat- 
form sj)ran);  on  the  hrid;.'e.  Iei|  l>y 
Baldwyn.  The  invulnerable  knight 
nnd  his  inen-at-arnis  met  them,  and  a 
fearful  combat  ensued,  in  which  many 
a  fi^rure  w-ns  set>n  to  fall  headlong 
down  otV  the  narrow  bridfje.  Hut 
fresh  besiegers  kept  swarming  up  be- 
hind the  tower,  and  the  besieged  were 
driven  olV  the  bridge. 

Another  minute  and  the  town  was 
taken,  but  so  well  had  the  firing  of 
the  mine  been  timed,  that  just  at  this 
instant  the  undei7>inncrs  gave  way, 
nnd  the  tower  suddenly  sank  away 
from  the  walls,  tearing  the  draw- 
bridge clear,  and  pouring  the  soldiers 
oft"  it  against  the  mnsoniy,  and  on  to 


the  dry  moat.  The  lK'sieu«il  uttered 
a  tii'rce  >hont.  and  in  a  tiionient  Kur* 
rounded  lialdwyn  and  hi.s  fellows; 
but,  strange  to  say,  offered  them 
(piarter.  Wliile  n  party  disarmed 
and  dis|)oscd  of  these,  others  lirwl  the 
turret  in  fifty  j)liiccs  wiih  a  sort  of 
hand  grenades.  At  this  work,  who  so 
busy  as  the  tall  kiiiglit  '  lie  put  lire- 
bags  on  his  long  sj^-ar,  and  thrust 
them  into  the  doomed  striictiiro  late 
so  terrible.  To  do  this  he  wu 
obliged  to  .stand  tin  a  projin-ting  l)Oam 
of  the  shattered  hoard,  holding  on  by 
the  hand  of  a  pikeman  to  steady  him- 
.self,  'this  pnivuked  Denys  ;  he  ran 
out  from  his  mantelet,  ho|iin;,'  to  es- 
cape notice  in  the  confusion,  and,  lev- 
elling his  cross-l>ow,  missed  the  knight 
clean,  but  .sent  his  UAi  into  the  brain 
of  the  pikeman,  and  thr  tall  knight 
fell  heavily  from  the  wall,  laneo  and 
all.  Denys  j;a/.ed  wdiiiUt- stnick  ; 
and,  in  that  unlucky  moment,  sud- 
denly he  felt  Ills  arm  liot,  then  cold, 
and  there  was  an  Kngli.sh  arrow 
skewering   it. 

This  episode  wns  unnoticed  in  • 
much  gn-ater  matter.  The  knight, 
his  armor  glittering  in  the  morning 
sun,  fell  headlon;.',  but,  turning  as  ho 
neared  the  water,  stnick  it  with  a 
slap  that  .sounded  a  mile  off. 

None  ever  thought  to  see  him 
again.  Hut  he  fell  iit  the  edge  of 
tlu-  fa.sciiu's  on  which  the  turret  stiKxl 
all  (-(Mked  on  one  side,  and  his  sjK-ar 
stuck  into  them  under  water,  and  by 
a  mighty  effort  he  got  to  the  side,  but 
could  not  get  out.  Anthony  sent  a 
dozen  knights  with  a  white  flag  to 
take  him  prisoner.  He  submitted 
like  n  lamb,  but  said  nothing. 

He  was  taken  to  Anthony's  tent. 

That  worthy  laughed  at  first  sight 
of  his  muddy  armor.  But  presently, 
frow-ning,  said:  "I  marsxl,  sir,  that 
so  good  a  knight  as  you  should  know 
his  devoir  so  ill  as  turn  rebel,  and 
give  us  all  this  trouble." 

"I  am  nun  —  nun — nun  —  nun^ 
nun — no  knight." 

"What  then?" 

"A  hosier." 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


205 


"  A  what  ?  Then  thy  armor  shall 
bv  stripped  off,  and  thou  shalt  be  tied 
to  a  stake  in  front  of  the  works,  and 
riddled  with  arrows  for  a  warning  to 
traitoi-s." 

"  N — n — n — n — no  !  duda — diida  ^ 
duda — duda — don't  do  that." 

"  Why  not^" 

"  Tuta — tuta — tuta — townsfolk  will 
— h — h — h — hang  t'other  buba — buba 
— buba — buba — bastard. 

"  What,  whom  ?  " 

"  Your  bub — bub — bub — brother 
Baldwyn." 

"  What,  have  yon  knaves  ta'cn 
him  ? " 

The  warlike  hosier  nodded. 

"  Hang  the  fool !  "  said  Anthony, 
peevishly. 

The  warlike  hosier  watched  his 
e/e,  and,  doffing  his  helmet,  took  out 
of  the  lining  an  intercepted  letter 
from  the  duke,  bidding  the  said  An- 
thony come  to  court  immediately, 
as  he  was  to  represent  the  court  of 
Burgundy  at  tiie  court  of  England ; 
was  to  go  over  and  receive  the  Eng- 
lish king's  sister  and  conduct  her  to 
her  bridegroom,  the  Earl  of  Charo- 
lois.  The  mission  was  one  very 
soothing  to  Anthony's  pride,  and  also 
to  his  love  of  pleasure.  For  Edward 
the  Fourth  held  the  gayest  and  most 
luxurious  court  in  Europe.  The  sly 
'aosier  saw  he  longed  to  be  off,  and 
jaid  :  "  We  '11  gega — gega — gega — 
gega — give  ye  a  thousand  angels  to 
raise  the  siege." 

"  And  Baldwyn  ?  " 

"  I  '11  gega — gega — ^gega — gega — go 
and  send  him  with  the  money." 

It  was  now  dinner-time,  and,  a  flag 
of  truce  being  hoisted  on  both  sides, 
the  sham  knight  and  the  true  one 
dined  together  and  came  to  a  friendly 
understanding. 

"  But  what  is  your  grievance,  my 
good  friend  1 " 

"  Tuta— tuta— tuta  -tuta— too  much 
taxes. " 

Denys,  on  finding  the  arrow  in  his 
right  arm,  turned  his  back,  which 
was  protected  by  a  long  shield,  and 


walked  sulkily  into  camp.  He  Avas 
met  by  the  Comte  de  Jarnac,  who  had 
seen  his  brilliant  shot,  and,  finding 
him  wounded  into  the  bargain,  gave 
him  a  handful  of  broad  pieces. 

"  Hast  got  the  better  of  thy  grief, 
arbalestrier,  mcthinks." 

"  My  grief,  yes  ;  but  not  my  love^ 
As  soon  as  ever  I  have  put  down  this 
rebellion,  I  go  to  Holland,  and  there 
I  shall  meet  with  him." 

This  event  was  nearer  than  Denys 
thought.  He  was  relieved  from  ser- 
vice next  day,  and,  though  his  wound 
was  no  trifle,  set  out  with  a  stout 
heart  to  rejoin  his  friend  in  Hol- 
land. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

"  What  make  you  here  ?  "  was 
Catherine's  greeting. 

"  I  came  to  seek  after  Margaret  ?  " 

"  Well,  we  know  no  such  person." 

"  Say  not  so,  dame ;  sure  you  know 
her  by  name,  Margaret  Brandt." 

"  We  have  heard  of  her,  for  that 
matter,  —  to  our  cost." 

"  Come,  dame,  prithee  tell  me  at 
least  where  she  bides." 

"  I  know  not  where  she  bides,  and 
care  not." 

Denys  felt  sure  this  was  a  deliber- 
ate untruth.  He  bit  his  lip.  "  Well, 
I  looked  to  find  myself  in  an  enemy's 
country  at  this  Tergou  ;  but  maybe 
if  ye  knew  all  ye  would  not  be  so 
dour." 

"I  do  know  all,"  replied  Cathe- 
rine, bitterly.  "  This  morn  I  knew 
naught."  Then,  suddenly  setting  her 
arms  akimbo,  she  told  him,  with  a 
raised  voice  and  flashing  eyes,  she 
wondered  at  his  cheek  sitting  down 
by  that  hearth  of  all  hearths  in  the 
world. 

"  May  Satan  fly  away  with  your 
hearth  to  the  lake  of  fire  and  brim- 
stone," shouted  Denys,  who  could 
speak  Flemish  fluently.  "  Your  own 
servant  bade   me   sit   there  till  you 


206 


lUK   CLOISTKH    AND   TlIK   UKAKTH. 


camp,  else  I  hml  ne'er  truiihled  your 
hearth.  My  iiiali-ioM  on  it,  utul  <iii 
the  chiirli-'h  n^ol'-tree  that  ;,'reets  uii 
uiiotleiuliii;;  strunjrer  this  way,"  and 
lie  stnule  seowliiij;  to  the  il(K>r. 

"  {)\\ !  oh  !  "  ejiiruhited  Catherine, 
friuhtened,  and  idso  a  little  eoii- 
seieiu-e-strieken  ;  and  the  virnp)  wat 
siiijilenly  down  and  Imrst  into  tear^^. 
Her  dau;;hter  followetl  ituil  ijuietly, 
but  without  loss  of  time. 

A  slirewd  writer,  now  unhappily 
lost  to  ws,  has  somewhere  the  t'ollow- 
inj;  dialogue :  — 

Hfie.  "  I  feel  all  a  woman's  weak- 
ness." 

Jfe.    "  Then  you  arc  invincilile." 

Denys,  hy  antieipation,  eontirmed 
that  valualtle  statement ;  he  stiKxl  at 
the  iloor  iookint;  nufully  at  the  haviH* 
his  thun<lerl>olt  of  eloquence  had 
made. 

"  Nay,  wife,"  saiil  he,  "  weep  not 
neither  for  a  soldier's  hii."*ty  word.  I 
mean  not  all  1  .said.  Why,  your  house 
is  your  own,  and  what  ritrht  in  it  have 
11     There  now,  I  'II  ijo." 

"  What  is  to  tlo  ?  "  said  a  ^rave, 
manly  voice.  It  was  Kli  ;  he  had 
come  in  from  the  shop. 

"  Here  is  a  rntlian  heen  a  seoldin;; 
of  your  womrn-fulk  and  making  them 
cry,"  explained  Denys. 

"  Little  Kate,  what  is  't  ?  for  ruffians 
do  not  use  fofidl  themselves  ruHiuns," 
•aid  Kli  the  soii-ilile. 

Kre  she  could  explain,  —  "  Hold 
your  ton;rue,  ^irl,"  saiil  I'atln-rine  ; 
"  Muriel  bade  him  sat  down,  ami  I 
knew  not  that,  and  wyted  on  him  ; 
and  he  wa.s  (join;;  and  leavin;;  his 
malison  on  us,  root  ami  branch.  I 
was  never  so  btrursed  in  all  mv  days, 
oh  !  r.h  !  oh  !  " 

"  You  were  both  somewhat  to 
blame ;  both  vou  and  he,"  said  Eli, 
calmly.  "  Pfowcver,  what  the  ser- 
vant says  the  master  should  still 
stand  to.  We  keep  not  op«n  house, 
but  yet  we  arc  not  jmor  enoufrh  to 
pnidtre  a  scat  at  our  iicarth  in  a  cold 
day  to  a  wayfarer  with  an  honest 
face,   and,    a^    I    think,   a   wounded 


man.  So  end  all  malice,  and  sit  J9 
down  !  " 

"  Woundetl  ?  "  cried  miither  and 
dau;.'hter,  in  a  breath. 

"  Think  you  a  soldier  slinga  hia 
arm  for  s|>ort  ?  " 

"  Nay,  't  is  but  an  arrow,"  said 
Denys,  cheerfully. 

"  But  an  arrow  ?  "  said  Kate,  with 
concentrated  horror.  "  Where  were 
our  eves,  mother  !  " 

"  Kay,  in  froo<l  sooth,  a  trifle. 
Which  however  I  will  pray  mcs- 
dames  to  accept  as  an  excuse  for  my 
vivacity.  'T  is  these  little  foolish 
tritlin^  wounds  that  fret  a  man, 
worthy  sir.  Why,  Untk  ye  now, 
sweeter  temper  than  ourCic-rard  never 
breathed,  yet,  when  the  U'ar  did  but 
strike  a  piece  no  bigirer  than  a  crown 
out  of  his  calf,  he  turned  so  hot  and 
choleric  y'  had  saitl  he  wits  no  .son  of 
yours,  but  pit  by  the  pM.d  kni^'ht  Sir 
John  reii|H.'r  on  his  wife  dame  Mus- 
tard. W  ho  is  this  !  a  dwarf  J  your 
servant.  Master  CJiles." 

"  Your  sen  ant,  soldier,"  roared  the 
new-comer.  Denys  stariiil.  He  had 
not  counted  on  exchan^iinj;  p-eeting8 
with  a  |M-tanl. 

Deiiys's  words  bail  surpris»tl  his 
hosts,  but  banlly  more  than  their 
de|»ortment  now  did  him.  They  all 
thn-e  came  ireejiin^  u|i  to  where  he 
sat,  and  looked  down  into  him  with 
their  lips  parted,  as  it  he  had  Iteen 
some  stran;:e  phenomenon. 

And  ^'rowin;,'  agitation  succectlcd 
to  ainH/ement. 

•'  Now  hush  !  "  said  Eli,  "  let  none 
speak  but  I.  Yfiun^:  man,"  saiil  he, 
j  solemnly,  "  in  (mmI's  name,  who  arc 
you,  that  know  us  thouj;h  we  know 
you  not.  and  that  shake  our  hearts 
speakin;:  fr>  us  of —  the  absent  —  our 
poor  relieilious  fson  !  whom  Heaven 
for<;ive  and  bless." 

"  What,  master,"  said  Denys,  low- 
oring  his  voice,  "  hath  lie  not  wTit  to 
you  !  hath  he  not  told  you  of  me, 
Denvs  of  Hurirundy  ?  " 

"  lie  hath  w  rit  but  three  lines,  and 
named  not  Denys  of  Burgundy,  nor 
any  stranger." 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH 


207 


"  Ay,  I  mind  the  long  letter  was  to 
his  sweetheart,  this  Margaret,  and  she 
has  decamped,  plague  take  her,  and 
how  I  am  to  find  her  Heaven  knows." 

"  What,  she  is  not  your  sweetheart, 
then  ?  " 

"  "Wlio,  dame  ?  an  't  please  you." 

"  Why,  Margaret  Brandt." 

"  How  can  my  comrade's  sweet- 
heart be  mine  ?  I  know  her  not 
from  Noah's  niece ;  how  should  I '? 
I  never  saw  her." 

"  Whisht  with  this  idle  chat,  Kate," 
said  Eli,  impatiently,  "  and  let  the 
young  man  answer  me.  How  came 
you  to  know  Gerard,  our  son  1  Pri- 
thee now,  think  on  a  parent's  cares, 
and  answer  me  straightforward,  like 
a  soldier  as  thou  art." 

"  And  shall.  I  was  paid  off  at 
Flushing,  and  started  for  Burgundy. 
On  the  German  frontier  I  lay  at  the 
same  inn  with  Gerard.  I  fancied 
him.  I  said,  '  Be  my  comrade.'  He 
was  loath  at  tirst ;  consented  presently. 
Many  a  weary  league  wc  trod  to- 
gether. Never  were  truer  comrades, 
never  will  be  while  earth  shall  last. 
First  I  left  my  route  a  bit  to  be  with 
him  ;  then  he  his  to  be  with  me.  We 
talked  of  Sevenbergen  and  Tergou 
a  thousand  times,  and  of  all  in  this 
house.  We  had  our  troubles  on  the 
road ;  but  battling  them  together 
made  them  light.  I  saved  his  life 
from  a  bear  ;  he  mine  in  the  Rhine, — 
for  he  swims  like  a  duck,  and  I  like  a 
hod  o'  bricks  ;  and  one  another's  lives 
at  an  inn  in  Burgundy,  where  we  two 
held  a  room  for  a  good  hour  against 
seven  cutthroats,  and  crippled  one 
and  slew  two ;  and  your  son  did  his 
devoir  like  a  man,  and  met  the  stout- 
est champion  I  ever  countered,  and 
spitted  him  like  a  sucking-pig ;  else 
I  had  not  been  here.  But  just  when 
all  was  fair,  and  I  was  to  see  him  safe 
aboard  ship  for  Rome,  if  not  to  Rome 

itself,  met  lis  that  son  of  a the 

Lord  Anthony  of  Burgundy,  and  his 
men,  making  for  Flanders,  then  in  in- 
surrection, tore  us  by  force  apart, 
took  me  where  I  got  some  bi'oad 
pieces  in  hand  and  a  broad  arrow  in 


my  shoulder,  and  left  ray  jx)or  Ge- 
rard lonesome.  At  that  sad  parting, 
soldier  though  I  be,  these  eyes  did 
rain  salt  scalding  tears,  and  so  did 
his,  jjoor  soul !  His  last  word  to  mo 
was,  '  Go  comfort  Margaret  !  '  so 
here  I  be.  Mine  to  him  was,  '  Think 
no  more  of  Rome.  Make  for  Rhine, 
and  down  stream  home.'  Now  say, 
for  you  know  best,  did  I  advise  him 
well  or  ill  *  " 

"  Soldier,  take  my  hand,"  said  Eli. 
"  God  bless  thee  1  God  bless  thee  !  " 
and  his  lip  quivered.  It  was  all  his 
reply,  but  more  eloquent  than  many 
words. 

Catherine  did  not  answer  at  all, 
but  she  darted  from  the  room  and 
bade  Muriel  bring  the  best  that  was 
in  the  house,  and  returned  with  wood 
in  both  arms,  and  iieaped  the  fire, 
and  took  out  a  snow-white  cloth  from 
the  press,  and  was  going  in  a  great 
hurry  to  lay  it  for  Gerard's  friend, 
when  suddenly  she  sat  down  and  all 
the  power  ebbed  suddenly  out  of  her 
body. 

"  Father  !  "  cried  Kate,  whose  eye 
was  as  quick  as  her  affection.  Dcnys 
started  up  ;  but  Eli  waved  him  back 
and  flung  a  little  water  sharply  in  his 
wife's  face.  This  did  her  instant 
good.  She  gasped,  "  So  sudden  :  my 
poor  boy  !  "  Eli  whispered  Denys, 
"  Take  no  notice  !  she  thinks  of  him 
night  and  day."  They  pretended 
not  to  observe  her,  and  she  shook  it 
off,  and  bustled  and  laid  the  cloth 
with  her  own  hands,  but,  as  she 
smoothed  it,  her  hands  trembled,  and 
a  tear  or  two  stole  down  her  cheeks. 

They  could  not  make  enough  of 
Denys.  They  stuffed  him,  and 
crammed  him,  and  then  gathered 
round  him,  and  kept  filling  his  glass 
in  turn,  while  by  that  genial  blaze  of 
fire  and  ruby  wine  and  eager  eyes 
he  told  all  that  I  have  related,  and 
a  vast  number  of  minor  details,  which 
an  artist,  however  minute,  omits. 

But  how  different  the  effect  on  my 
readers  and  on  this  small  circle  !  To 
them  the  interest  was  already  made 
before  the  first  word  came  from  his 


208 


TIIK    CLOISIKi;    ANI>    llli;    HI  AUlll. 


lips.  It  WHS  111!  nltoiit  (Icninl,  mid  he 
who  sat  there  telliii(,'  it  them  was 
warm  from  ( ieranl,  anil  an  actor  with 
him  ill  all  these  M-eiies. 

The  tlesh  ami  hloud  around  that 
fireiiuivereii  (or  fiieir  severed  nienilH-r, 
hearin;,'  its  8tru;u,'le.s  and  periis. 

I  shall  asiv  my  reaiicrs  t<>  rorali  to 
memory  all  they  can  of  tierard's  jour- 
ney with  Deiiys,  and  in  their  mind's 
eye  to  see  those  very  matters  told  hv 
Ids  comrade  to  an  exile's  fatlur,  ali 
Htoie  outside,  all  fatlur  within,  and  to 
two  jxHir  women,  an  exile's  mother 
and  a  sisttT,  who  were  all  love  and 
pity  ami  tender  anxiety  l)oth  outside 
and  in.  Now  wonlil  you  mind  tios- 
inii  thi.s  ImjoIv  for  a  minute,  and  inak- 
in;^  an  etVort  to  realize  ali  this  *  It 
will  save  us  so  inucli  re[)ctitioii. 

Then  yon  will  not  Ik-  surprisc<l, 
when  I  tell  you  that  after  a  while 
Ciles  came  softly  and  curled  himself 
Up  l>efore  the  fire,  and  lay  ^'luin^r  at 
the  sjK-nker  with  a  reverence  almost 
canine ;  and  that,  when  the  roujjh 
Boldier  had  unconsciously  hut  thor- 
ou^'hiy  iM'traytd  hi-i  U-tter  (|ualitics, 
ami  alM)ve  all  hi-*  rare  alVection  for 
GeranI,  Kate,  thou;;h  timorous  as  a 
l)ird,  stole  her  little  liand  into  the 
warrior's  hu;,'e  lirown  jialm,  where  it 
lay  an  instant  like  a  teaspoonful  of 
cream  spilt  on  a  ]ilatter,  tiien  iiit)pe<l 
the  hall  of  his  thuml>  and  sened  for 
aKardiometer.  In  other  words,  Kate 
is  just  even  to  rival  story-tellers,  and 
balances  matters.  Denys  had  to  pay 
a  tax  to  his  audience  which  I  have 
not.  Wlienever  Gerard  was  in  too 
much  dan;:er,  th^  female  faces  Ix- 
came  so  white,  and  their  ])oor  little 
throats  fjurgled  so,  he  was  ohli;:ed  in 
ronimon  humanity  to  spoil  his  n-cital. 
Suspense  is  the  soul  of  narrativp,  and 
thus  dealt  i;(ui;.'h-and-Tender  of  liur- 
pundy,  with  his  best  suspenses.  "  Now, 
dame,  take  not  on  till  ye  hear  the 
end  ;  Ma'amselle,  let  not  your  cheek 
blanch  so  ;  courage  !  it  looks  ujjly  ; 
but  vnu  shall  hear  how  we  wond 
throiiL'h.  Had  he  miscarried,  and  I 
at  hand,  would  I  be  alive  ?  " 


And  I  called  Kate's  little  hand  a 
Kardiometer,  or  heart-measurer,  Im> 
cause  it  ^railuated  emotion,  and 
iiinched  by  scale.  At  its  Inst  it  wm 
by  no  means  a  hit;h-pressure  enj;inc. 
Hut  all  is  relative.  Denys  soon 
learned  the  tender  (^ninnt,  and  when 
to  water  the  sus|)onse,  and  extract  the 
thrill  as  far  as  ]M)ssible.  On  one  oc- 
casion only  he  cannily  iixlcinnitied 
his  narrative  for  this  drawback.  Fall- 
in;:  jHrsonally  into  the  Hhinc,  and 
siiikin;;,  he  ^ot  |iinchcil,  he,  Denvs,  to 
his  surprise  and  satisfaction.  "  Oho  I " 
thou^'ht  he,  and,  on  the  j>rineiple  of 
the  anatomists,  "  experimentum  in 
corjKire  vili,"  kept  himself  a  ipiarter 
of  an  hour  under  water  ;  under  pres- 
sure all  the  time.  And,  even  when 
(ierard  had  ^ot  hold  of  him,  he  was 
loath  to  leave  the  river ;  so,  le.s.s  con- 
.s<ientioiis  than  I  was,  swam  with  Ge- 
rard to  the  east  bank  first,  and  was 
al)out  to  land,  but  detectid  the  otli- 
cers  and  their  intent,  chaffed  tla^m  a 
little  space,  treading  water,  then 
turned  and  swam  wearily  all  across, 
and  at  last  was  obliged  to  },'et  out,  for 
verv  shame,  or  else  acknf>wled;.'e  him- 
self' a  pike  ;  so  jwrmitti  d  himself  to 
land,  exhausteil, — and  the  pressure 
relaxed. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock,  an  un- 
heard-of hour,  but  they  took  no  note 
of  time  this  ni;:lit  ;  and  Denys  had 
still  much  to  tell  them,  when  the  d«x»r 
was  opened  (luietly,  ami  in  stole  Cor- 
nelis  and  Svbrandt,  looking'  hanplo^'. 
They  had  tins  ni;;ht  U'cn  drinking  the 
very'  last  drop  of  their  mysterious 
funds. 

Catherine  feared  her  husband  would 
rebuke  them  1m  Inie  Denys  ;  but  he  only 
l<x)ked  sa<lly  at  them,  and  motioned 
them  to  sit  down  quietly. 

Denys  it  was  who  seemed  discom- 
posed. He  knitted  his  brows  and  eyed 
them  thoughtfully  and  rather  ^doom- 
ily  ;  then  turned  to  Catherine. 
"  What  say  you,  dame  ?  th<i  rest  to- 
morrow !  For  I  am  somewhat  weary 
and  it  waxes  late."  "  So  l)e  it,"  said 
Eli.     But,  when  Denys  rose  to  go  to 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


209 


his  inn  he  was  instantly  stopped  by 
Catherine.  "  And  think  yon  to  lie 
from  this  house  ?  Gerard's  room  has 
been  got  ready  for  you  hours  agone  ; 
the  sheets  I  'll  not  say  much  for,  see- 
ing I  spun  the  flax  and  wove  the 
web." 

"  Then  would  I  lie  in  them  blind- 
fold," was  the  gallant  reply.  "  Ah, 
dame,  our  poor  Gerard  was  the  one 
for  fine  linen.  He  could  hardly  for- 
give the  honest  Germans  their  coarse 
flax,  and,  whene'er  my  traitors  of 
country-men  did  amiss,  a  would  ex- 
cuse them,  saying,  '  Well  !  well  ; 
bons  toiles  sont  en  Bourgogne ' ; 
that  means  '  there  be  good  lenten 
cloths  in  Burgundy.'  But  indeed 
he  beat  all  for  by-words  and  cleanli- 
ness." 

"  O  Eli !  Eli !  doth  not  our  son 
come  back  to  us  at  each  word  ?  " 

"  Ay.  Buss  me,  my  poor  Kate. 
You  and  I  know  all  that  passeth  in 
each  other's  hearts  this  night.  None 
other  can,  but  God." 


CHAPTER  XLVin. 

Dents  took  an  opportunity  next 
day,  and  told  mother  and  daughter 
the  rest,  excusing  himself  character- 
istically for  not  letting  Cornells  and 
Sybrandt  hear  of  it.  "  It  is  not  for 
me  to  blacken  them  ;  they  come  of  a 
good  stock.  But  Gerard  looks  on 
them  as  no  friends  of  his  in  this  mat- 
ter, and  I  'm  Gerard's  comrade ;  and 
it  is  a  rule  with  us  soldiers  not  to  tell 
the  enemy  aught  but  lies." 

Catherine  sighed,  but  made  no 
answer. 

The  adventures  he  related  cost 
them  a  tumult  of  agitation  and 
grief,  and  sore  they  wept  at  the 
parting  of  the  friends,  which,  even 
now,  Denys  could  not  tell  without 
faltering.  But  at  last  all  merged 
in  the  joyful  hope  and  expectation 
of  Gerard's  speedy  return.  In  this 
Denys  confidently  shared ;  but  re- 
minded   them    that  was   no  reason 


why  he  should  neglect  his  friend's 
wishes  and  last  words.  In  fact, 
should  Gerard  return  next  week, 
and  no  Margaret  to  be  found,  what 
sort  of  figure  should  he  cut  ? 

Catherine  had  never  felt  so  kind- 
ly towards  the  truant  Margaret  as 
now ;  and  she  was  fully  as  anxious 
to  find  her  and  be  kind  to  her  before 
Gerard's  return  as  Denys  was ;  but 
she  could  not  agree  with  him  that 
anything  was  to  be  gained  by  leaving 
this  neighborhood  to  search  for  her. 
"  She  must  have  told  somebody  whith- 
er she  was  going.  It  is  not  as  though 
they  were  dishonest  folk  flying  the 
country ;  they  owe  not  a  stiver  in 
Sevenbergen ;  and,  dear  heart,  Denys, 
you  can't  hunt  all  Holland  for  her." 

"  Can  I  not  ?  "  said  Denys,  grimly. 
"  That  we  shall  see."  He  added,  after 
some  reflection,  that  they  must  divide 
their  forces,  —  she  stay  here,  with  eyes 
and  ears  wide  open,  and  he  ransack 
every  town  in  Holland  for  her,  if  need 
be.  "  But  she  will  not  be  many  leagues 
from  here.  They  be  three.  Three  fly 
not  so  fast,  nor  so  far,  as  one." 

"  That  is  sense,"  said  Catherine 
But  she  insisted  on  his  going  first  tc» 
the  demoiselle  Van  Eyck.  "  She  and 
our  Margaret  Avere  bosom  friends. 
She  knows  where  the  girl  is  gone,  il 
she  Avill  but  tell  us."  Denys  was  for 
going  to  her  that  instant,  so  Cathe- 
rine, in  a  turn  of  the  hand,  made  her- 
self one  shade  neater,  and  took  him 
with  her. 

She  was  received  graciously  by  the 
old  lady,  sitting  in  a  richly  furnished 
room,  and  opened  her  business.  The 
tapestry  dropped  out  of  Margaret  Van 
Eyck's'hands.  "  Gone  ?  Gone  from 
Sevenbergen  and  not  told  mel  the 
thankless  girl !  " 

This  turn  greatly  surprised  the 
visitors.  "What,  you  knew  not? 
when  was  she  here  last  1  " 

"  Maybe  ten  days  agone.  I  had 
ta'cn  out  my  brushes,  after  so  many 
years,  to  paint  her  portrait.  I  did  not 
"do  it,  though,  for  reasons." 

Catherine  remarked  it  was  "  a  most 
strange  thing  she  should  go  away,  bag 


210 


THK   CLOISTKK    AND   TlIK    IIKAICIH. 


and  hafrcn^,  like  tiiis,  without  with 
jdiir  Iciivr  or  hy  your  leave,  whv  or 
whiTi-ri)ri-.  W'us  eviT  uu^ht  so  uiito- 
wuril  !  just  when  all  uur  heart:)  are 
wiuin  to  her ;  and  here  is  Genird's 
niate  come  from  the  ends  o'  the  earth 
with  t-omti>rt  for  her  from  (Jerurd, 
and  <-an't  find  hrr,  anil  (ierard  him- 
self exiKHted.  What  to  do  1  know 
not.  liut  sure  she  is  not  parted  like 
this  without  a  reaison.  Can  ye  not 
give  us  the  elew,  my  pj*'d  demoiselle  ! 
I'htluf  now." 

"  I  have  it  not  to  jfive,"  said  the 
elder  hnly,   rather  jieevishly. 

■•  'I'luM  I  tan,"  .said  Uiciit  Heynts, 
showin;,'  herself  in  the  doorway,  with 
color  somewhat  hei};hteiU'<l. 

"  So  you  have  heen  hearkening  all 
the  time,  eh  '.  " 

"  What  are  mv  ears  for,  mistress  ?  " 

"  True.  Well,  throw  us  the  lij;ht 
of  thv  wi.sdoin  on  this  dark  matter." 

"  There  is  no  darkness  that  I  mx," 
euid  Hicht.  "  An<l  the  elew,  whv,  on 
ye  cull 't  a  two-ply  twine,  and  the 
ends  on 't  in  this  room  e'en  now, 
ye  Ml  not  l>c  far  out.  U  niistre.ss,  I 
wonder  at  your  sitting  there  pre- 
tendini;." 

"  Marry,  come  up  !  "  nnd  the  mis- 
tress's cheek  was  now  nearly  as  retl 
as  the  sen  ant's.  "  So  't  was  I  drove 
the  f<K>li>h  girl  away." 

"  Vou  did  your  sliarc,  mistress. 
What  sort  of  greeting  gave  you  her 
last  tiini'  she  eaine  '  Think  you 
she  eould  miss  to  notice  it,  ami  she 
all  friendle.ss  ?  And  you  said,  '  I 
have  alten-d  my  mind  nl)oHt  jMiint- 
ing  of  you,'  says  you,  a  turning  up 
your  nose  at  her." 

"  I  did  not  turn  up  my  nose.  It  is 
not  shaped  like  yours  for  looking 
heavenward." 

"  O,  all  our  noson  can  follow  our 
henrtys  bent,  for  that  matter.  Poor 
joul !  She  did  come  into  the  kitchen 
to  me.  '  I  am  not  to  be  painted 
now,'  said  she,  and  tlic  tears  in  her 
eves.  She  said  no  nmre.  But  I 
knew  well  what  she  did  mean.  I 
had  seen  ye.'' 

"  Well,"  said  Margaret  Van  Eyck, 


"  I  do  eonfe.ss  so  much,  and  I  make 
you  the  judge,  mndani.  Know  that 
these  young  girls  oiii  ilo  nothing  of 
tiieir  own  heads,  but  are  most  apt  at 
mimicking  aught  their  »weethi*nrt« 
do.  Now  your  Ueranl  is  reasonably 
handy  at  many  things,  and  among 
the  re.-.t  at  the  illuminator's  c^ft ; 
and  Margaret,  she  is  his  jiupil,  and  a 
patient  one;  what  mar%el  ?  having  a 
woman's  eye  for  color,  and  eke  a 
h»ver  to  n|H'.  'T  is  a  trick  I  despise 
at  heart  ;  for  by  it  the  great  art  of 
color,  which  should  be  royal,  aspir- 
ing, and  free,  bt-eomes  a  poor  slave  to 
the  j>ett\  crafts  of  writing  and  print- 
ing, and  is  fettered,  imprisoned,  and 
nuide  little,  \mh\y  and  .soul,  to  match 
the  littleness  of  Uxiks,  and  go  to 
chur<  h  in  a  ri«  h  fiMil's  |km  ket.  Nathc- 
less,  afVection  rules  us  all,  and,  when 
the  |MKjr  wench  woulil  bring  me  her 
thoni-leaves,  and  lilies,  and  ivv,  and 
dewlK'rries,  and  ladybirds,  and  butter- 
tly  grubs,  and  all  the  .scum  of  Nature, 
—  stuck  fiLst  in  gold-leaf  like  wasps 
in  a  honey-jw)t,  anil,  withal,  her  diur- 
nal liook,  snowing  she  had  jK»n.-<l  an 
hundred,  or  an  hundred  and  fifty,  oi 
two  hundred  hours  over  each  singular 
page,  certes  I  was  wroth  that  nn  im- 
mortal soul  and  many  hours  of  lalxir, 
and  much  manuid  skill,  should  Ijo 
flung  away  on  Nature's  trash,  leaves, 
insects,  grubs,  and  on  barren  letters  ; 
but,  having  l)owels,  I  diil  ])crforce  re- 
strain, an<l,  as  it  were,  dam  my  In-t- 
ter  fielings,  and  looked  kindly  at  tho 
work  to  see  how  it  might  l>e  bettered; 
nnd  said  I,  '  Sith  Heaven  for  our  sins 
hath  diMmieil  us  to  spend  time,  nnd 
soul,  nnd  color,  on  great  letters  ami  lit- 
tle luetics,  omitting  such  small  fry  as 
saints  and  heri>es,  their  acts  and  pas- 
sions, why  not  present  the  scum  nat- 
urally ? '  '  I  told  luT  '  the  graj)e8  I 
saw,  walking  abroad,  did  hang  i'  tho 
air,  not  stick  in  a  wall ;  nnd  cvcti 
these  in.sects,'  quo'  I,  '  and  Nature 
his  slime  in  general,  pass  not  their 
noxious  lives  wedged  miserably  in 
metal  prisons,  like  tlies  in  honcy-f)ots 
and  glue-pots,  but  do  crawl  or  hover 
at  large,  infesting  air.'      'Ah!    mj 


THE   CLOISTER  AND   THE  HEARTH. 


2n 


d'sar  friend,'  says  she,  'I  see  now 
whither  you  drive ;  hut  this  ground  is 
gold,  whereon  we  may  not  shade.' 
'  Who  says  so  ?  '  quotli  I.  '  All 
teachers  of  this  craft,'  says  she ;  and 
(to  make  an  end  o'  me  at  once,  I 
trow)  '  Gerard  himself!'  '  That  for 
Gerard  himself, '  quoth  I,  '  and  all 
the  gang ;  gi'e  me  a  brush  ! ' 

"  Then  chose  I,  to  shade  her  finiit 
and  reptiles,  a  color  false  in  nature, 
but  true  relatively  to  that  monstrous 
ground  of  glaring  gold ;  and  in  five 
minutes  out  came  a  bunch  of  rasp- 
berries, stalk  and  all,  and  a'most 
flew  in  your  mouth  ;  likewise  a  but- 
terfly grub,  she  had  so  truly  presented 
as  might  turn  the  stoutest  stomach. 
My  lady  she  flings  her  arms  round 
my  neck,  and  says  she,  '  Oh  ! '  " 

"  Did  she  now  ?  " 

"  The  little  love  !  "  observed  Denys, 
succeeding  at  last  in  wedging  in  a 
word. 

Margaret  Van  Eyck  stared  at  him, 
and  then  smiled.  She  went  on  to 
tell  them  how  from  step  to  step  she 
had  been  led  on  to  promise  to  resume 
the  art  she  had  laid  aside  with  a  sigh 
when  her  brothers  died,  and  to  paint 
the  Madonna  once  more,  with  Marga- 
ret for  model.  Incidentally  she  even 
revealed  how  girls  are  turned  into 
saints.  "  '  Thy  hair  is  adorable,'  said 
I.  '  Wliy,  't  is  red,'  quo'  she.  '  Ay,' 
quoth  I,  *  but  what  a  red  !  how 
brown  !  how  glossy  !  most  hair  is  not 
worth  a  straw  to  us  painters  ;  thine 
the  artist's  very  hue.  But  thy  violet 
eyes,  which  smack  of  earth,  being 
now  languid  for  lack  of  one  Gerard, 
now  full  of  fire  in  hopes  of  the  same 
Gerard,  these  will  I  lift  to  heaven 
in  fixed  and  holy  meditation,  and 
thy  nose,  which  doth  already  some- 
what aspire  that  way  (though  not  so 
piously  as  Richt's),  will  I  debase 
a  trifle,  and  somewhat  enfeeble  thy 
chin. '  " 

"  Enfeeble  her  chin  ?  Alack?  what 
may  that  mean  ?  Ye  go  beyond  me, 
mistress." 

"  'T  is  a  resolute  chin.  Not  a  jot 
too  resolute  for  this  wicked  world; 


but  when  ye  come  to  a  Madonna  V 
No,  thank  you." 

"  Well  I  never.    A  resolute  chin." 

Denys.  "  The  darling  !  " 

"  And  now  comes  the  rub.  When 
you  told  me  she  was  —  the  way  she 
is,  it  gave  me  a  shock ;  I  dropped  my 
bnishes.  Was  I  going  to  turn  a  girl, 
that  could  n't  keep  her  lover  at  a  dis- 
tance, into  the  Virgin  Mary,  at  my 
time  of  life  ?  I  love  the  poor  ninny 
still ;  but  I  adore  Our  Blessed  Lady. 
Say  you,  '  A  painter  must  not  be 
peevish  in  such  matters.'  Well, 
most  painters  are  men  ;  and  men  are 
fine  fellows.  They  can  do  aught. 
Their  saints  and  virgins  are  neither 
more  nor  less  than  their  lemans,  sav- 
ing your  presence.  But  know  that 
for  this  very  reason  half  their  craft  is 
lost  on  me,  which  find  beneath  their 
angels'  white  wings  the  very  trollops 
I  have  seen  flaunting  it  on  the  streets, 
bejewelled  like  Paynim  idols,  and  put 
on  like  the  queens  in  a  pack  o'  cards. 
And  I  am  not  a  fine  fellow,  but  only 
a  woman,  and  my  painting  is  but  one 
half  craft,  and  t'other  half  devotion. 
So  now  you  may  read  me.  'T  was 
foolish,  maybe,  but  I  could  not  help 
it;  yet  am  I  sorrj."  And  the  old 
lady  ended  despondently  a  discourse 
which  she  had  commenced  in  a  mighty 
defiant  tone. 

"  Well,  you  know,  dame,"  observed 
Catherine,  "  you  must  think  it  would 
go  to  the  poor  girl's  lieart,  and  she  so 
fond  of  ye  ?  " 

Margaret  Van  Eyck  only  sighed. 

The  Frisian  girl,  after  biting  her 
lips  impatiently  a  little  while,  turned 
upon  Catherine.  "  Why,  dame,  think 
you  't  was  for  that  alone  Margaret 
and  Peter  hath  left  Sevenberg  ?  Nay." 

"  For  what  else,  then  1 " 

"  What  else  ?  Why,  because  Ge- 
rard's people  slight  her  so  cruel.  Who 
would  bide  among  hard-hearted  folk 
that  ha'  driven  her  lad  t'  Italy,  and, 
now  he  is  gone,  relent  not,  but  face  it 
out,  and  ne'er  come  anigh  her  that  is 
left  ? " 

"  Richt,  I  was  going." 

"  O,  ay,    going,    and    going,   and 


212 


THE   CLOISIKK    AM)   THi:   HKAIMII. 


poinp.  Vo  shoiilil  lia'  suiii  lens  or 
elso  (lone  Tiiore.  Hut  with  voiir  worils 
you  iliii  uplift  liCT  la-urt  ntiil  let  it 
(iowii  wi'  your  deeds.  '  'I'licy  Imve 
iii'ver  iM-en,'  said  the  poor  thin^  to 
mo,  with  such  a  sif^h.  Ay,  here  is 
oite  ran  feel  for  her  ;  for  I  too  am  far 
from  my  friends,  and  often,  when  first 
I  came  to  llollund,  I  did  n^e  to  take 
a  hearty  ery  all  to  myself.  Hut  ten 
times  liever  would  I  U;  Hieht  Ueynes, 
with  nau>;ht  but  the  lea^'ui*  atween 
me  atu!  all  my  kith,  than  tx-  ixs  she  is 
r  the  midst  of  them  that  ou>;ht  to 
warm  to  her,  and  >et  to  fare  as  lone- 
bome  as  I." 

•'  Alack,  Iticht,  I  did  go  hut  yes- 
treen, and  had  f;one  iR-fore,  hut  one 
plaj^uy  tiling:  or  t'other  di<l  still  eome 
and  hinder  me." 

"  Mistress,  did  au;:ht  hinder  yc 
to  eat  your  dinner  any  one  of  those 
days  ?  I  trow  not.  And,  had  vonr 
heart  Utn  lus  ^'o«k1  towards  your  own 
tlesh  and  blootl  lus  't  wtt.s  townnl.s  your 
ticsher's  meat,  nau^,'ht  had  jtn-vailcd 
to  ktvi)  you  from  her  that  sat  lonely, 
awateliin;:  the  road  for  you  and  com- 
fort, wi'  your  child's  child  a  boating 
'nealh  her  lM)soni." 

Here  this  rutle  yonnp  woman  was 
int»rrupted  by  an  incident  not  uncoin- 
mnn  in  a  domestic's  bright  existence. 
The  \'an  Kyck  had  U-en  nettled  by  the 
attack  on  lier,  but  with  duo  tact  had 
gone  into  ambush.  She  now  sprang 
out  of  it.  "  Since  you  disres|K'ct  my 
guests,  .<!ctk  another  place  !  " 

•'  With  nil  my  heart,  said  Richt, 
stoutly. 

"  Nay,  mistress,"  put  in  the  good- 
nnturcti  Catherine.  "  True  folk  will 
still  sjK^ak  out.  Ilcr  tongue  is  a 
stinger."  Here  the  water  came  into 
the  speaker's  eyes  by  way  of  confirma- 
tion. "Hut  better  she  said  it  than 
thought  it.  So  now  't  won't  rankle 
in  her.  And,  part  with  her  for  me, 
that  shall  ye  not.  Beshrcw  the 
wencli,  she  kens  she  is  a  good  ser- 
vant, and  takes  advantage.  We  poor 
wretches  which  keep  house  must  still 
pay  'cm  tiix  for  value.  I  had  a  gootl 
servant  oucc,  when  I  was  a  young 


'oman.  Kh,  dear,  how  she  did  ;;rin4 
me  down  into  the  du>t !  In  the  tni. 
by  Heaven's  mercy,  she  marrii^l  the 
baker,  and  I  was  my  own  woman 
again.  '  So,'  said  I,  '  no  mon-  good 
.servants  shall  come  hither,  a  hector- 
ing o"  me.'  I  just  get  a  fo<d  and 
learn  her  ;  and,  whenever  slu-  know- 
eth  her  right  hand  fn>m  her  left,  she 
sauceth  me  ;  then  out  I  bundle  her, 
lurk  and  crop,  and  take  another 
dunce  in  her  pLue.  Dear  heart,  't  is 
wiarisome,  teaching  a  string  of  fool* 
by  ones  ;  but  there,  I  am  mistress"; 
here  she  forgot  that  she  was  defend- 
ing Hicht,  and,  turning  rather  spite- 
fully u|>on  her,  added,  "  and  you  bo 
mistress  here,  I  trow." 

"  No  more  than  that  stool,"  said 
the  Van  Eyck,  loftily.  "  She  is 
neithi-r  mistress  nor  servant,  but 
gone.  She  is  dismissed  the  house, 
anil  there  's  an  end  of  htr.  What,  di(i 
ye  not  hear  me  turn  the  saucy  bag- 
gage otV  ?  " 

"  Ay,  ay.  We  all  heard  you,"  said 
Hicht,  with  vast  inditVercnce. 

"  Then  hejir  me,"  said  Dcnys, 
solemnly. 

They  all  went  round  like  things  on 
wheels,  and  fastened  their  eyes  on 
him. 

"  Ay,  let  us  hear  what  the  man 
.'»ays,"  urged  the  hostess.  "  Men  aro 
fine  fellows,  with  their  great  hoars« 
voices." 

"  Mistress  Richt,"8aid  Denys,  with 
great  dignity  and  ceremony,  indeed,  so 
great  as  to  verge  on  the  absurd,  "  you 
are  turned  otj'.  If  on  a  slight  ac- 
(|uaintance  I  might  advise,  I  'd  say, 
since  you  an>  a  ser>ant  no  more,  be  a 
mistress,  a  (|uecn." 

"  ICa.sier  said  than  done,"  n'j)Iied 
Hicht,  bluntly. 

"Not  a  jot.  You  sec  here  one  who 
is  a  man,  though  but  half  an  arbales- 
trier,  owing  to  that  devilish  Knglish- 
man's  arrow,  in  w  hose  carcass  I  have, 
however,  left  a  like  token,  which  is  a 
comfort.  I  have  twenty  gold  pieces  " 
(he  showed  them),  "  and  a  stout  arm. 
In  another  week  or  so  I  shall  have 
twain.     Marriage  is  not  a  habit  (f 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


213 


mine ;  but  I  capitulate  to  so  many 
virtues.  You  are  beautiful,  good- 
hearted,  and  outspoken,  and,  above 
all,  3-ou  take  the  part  of  my  she-com- 
rade.    Be  then  an  arbalestriesse ! " 

"  And  what  the  dickens  is  that  ?  " 
inquired  Richt. 

"  I  mean,  be  the  wife,  mistress,  and 
queen  of  Denys  of  Burgundy,  here 
present !  " 

A  dead  silence  fell  on  all. 

It  did  not  last  long  though,  and 
was  followed  by  a  burst  of  unreason- 
able indignation. 

Catherine.  "  Well,  did  you  ever  ?  " 

Margaret.  "  Never,  in  all  my  born 
days." 

Catherine.  "  Before  our  very 
faces." 

Margaret.  "  Of  all  the  absurdity 
and  insolence  of  this  ridiculous 
sex  —  " 

Here  Denys  observed,  somewhat 
dryly,  that  the  female  to  whom  he  had 
addi'essed  himself  was  mute;  and  the 
others,  on  whose  eloquence  there  was 
no  immediate  demand,  were  fluent ; 
on  this  the  voices  stopped,  and  the 
eyes  turned  pivot-like  upon  Richt. 

She  took  a  sly  glance  from  under 
her  lashes  at  her  military  assailant, 
and  said,  "  I  mean  to  take  a  good 
look  at  any  man  ere  I  leap  into  his 
arms." 

Denys  drew  himself  up  majesti- 
cally. "  Then  look  your  fill,  and 
leap  away." 

This  proposal  led  to  a  new  and 
most  unexpected  result.  A  long 
white  finger  was  extended  by  the  Van 
Eyck  in  a  line  with  the  speaker's  eye, 
and  an  agitated  voice  bade  him  stand, 
in  the  name  of  all  the  saints.  "  You 
ai-e  beautiful  so,"  cried  she.  "  You 
are  inspired  —  with  folly.  What 
matters  that  ?  you  are  inspired.  I 
must  take  off"  your  head."  And  in  a 
moment  she  was  at  work  with  her 
pencil.  "  Come  out,  hussy,"  she 
screamed  to  Richt,  "  more  in  front 
of  him,  and  keep  the  fool  inspired 
and  beautiful.  0,  why  had  I  not 
this  maniac  for  my  good  centurion  ? 
They  went  and  brought  me  a  brute 


with  a  low  forehead  and  a  shapeless 
beard." 

Catherine  stood  and  looked  with 
utter  amazement  at  this  pantomime, 
and  secretly  resolved  that  her  vener- 
able hostess  had  been  a  disguised  lu- 
natic all  this  time,  and  was  now  busy 
throwing  off"  the  mask.  As  for  Richt, 
she  was  unhappy  and  cross.  She  had 
left  her  caldron  in  a  precarious  state, 
and  made  no  scruple  to  say  so,  and 
that  duties  so  grave  as  hers  left  her 
no  "time  to  waste  a  playing  the 
statee  and  the  fool  all  at  one  time." 
Her  mistress  in  reply  reminded  her 
that  it  was  possible  to  be  nide  and  re- 
bellious to  one's  poor  old,  afifectionate, 
desolate  mistress,  without  being  utter- 
ly heartless  and  savage,  and  a  tram- 
pier  on  arts. 

On  this  Richt  stopped,  and  pouted, 
and  looked  like  a  little  basilisk  at  the 
inspired  model  who  caused  her  woe. 
He  retorted  with  unshaken  admira- 
tion. The  situation  was  at  last  dis- 
solved by  the  artist's  wrist  becoming 
cramped  from  disuse  ;  this  was  not, 
however,  until  she  had  made  a  rough 
but  noble  sketch.  "  I  can  work  no 
more  at  present,"  said  she,  sorrow- 
fully. 

"  Then,  now,  mistress,  I  may  go 
and  mind  my  pot  ?  " 

"  Ay,  ay,  go  to  your  pot !  And 
get  into  it,  do ;  you  will  find  your 
soul  in  it;  so  then  you  will  ail  be 
together." 

"  Well,  but  Richt,"  said  Catherine, 
laughing  ;  "  she  turned  you  off"." 

"  Boo,  boo,  boo  !  "  said  Richt,  con- 
temptuously. "  When  she  wants  to 
get  rid  of  me,  let  her  turn  herself  off 
and  die.  I  am  sure  she  is  old  enough 
for 't.  But  take  your  time,  mistress  ; 
if  you  are  in  no  hurry,  no  more  am  I. 
When  that  day  doth  come,  't  will 
take  a  man  to  dry  my  eyes ;  and  if 
you  should  be  in  the  same  mind  then, 
soldier,  you  can  say  so ;  and  if  you 
are  not,  why,  't  will  be  all  one"  to 
Richt  Heynes." 

And  the  plain  speaker  went  her 
way.  But  her  words  did  not  fall  to 
the  ground.     Neither  of  her  femala 


214 


THE  CLOISTER  AND   THE  HEARTH. 


hearers  could  disguise  from  herself 
that  this  blunt  girl,  solitiiry  herself, 
had  jirobably  read  Margaret  Brandt 
aright,  and  that  she  had  gone  away 
from  Scvenbergen  broken-hearted. 

<Catlicrine  and  Dcnys  bade  the  Van 
Eyck  adieu,  and  that  same  afternoon 
Dcnys  set  out  on  a  wild-goose  chase. 
His  plan,  like  all  great  things,  was 
simple.  He  should  go  to  a  huudrcd 
towns  jind  villages,  and  ask  in  each 
after  an  old  physician  with  a  fair 
daughter,  and  an  old  long-bow  soldier. 
He  should  inquire  of  the  burgomas- 
ters about  all  new-comers,  and  should 
go  to  the  fountains  and  watch  the 
women  and  girls  as  they  came  with 
their  ])i tellers  for  water. 

And  away  he  went,  and  was  months 
and  months  on  the  tramp,  and  could 
not  find  her. 

Happily  this  chivalrous  feat  of 
friendship  was  in  some  degree  its  own 
reward. 

Those  who  sit  at  home  blindfolded 
by  self-conceit,  and  think  camel  or 
man  out  of  the  depths  of  tbeir  inner 
consciousness,  alias  their  ignorance,— 
will  tell  you  that,  in  the  intervals  of 
war  and  danger,  peace  and  tranquil 
life  acquire  their  true  value,  and 
satisfy  the  heroic  mind.  But  those 
who  look  before  they  babble  or  scrib- 
ble will  see,  and  say,  that  men  who 
risk  their  lives  habitually  thirst  for 
exciting  pleasures  between  the  acts 
of  danger,  and  not  for  innocent  tran- 
quillity. 

To  this  Denys  was  no  exception. 
His  whole  military  life  had  been  luilf 
Sparta,  half  Capua.  And  he  was  too 
good  a  soldier,  and  too  good  a  liber- 
tine, to  have  ever  mixed  either  habit 
with  the  other.  But  now  for  the  first 
time  he  found  himself  mixed ;  at 
peace  and  yet  on  duty  ;  for  he  took 
this  latter  view  of  his  wild-goose 
chase,  luckily.  So  all  these  months 
he  was  a  demi-Spartan  ;  sober,  pru- 
dent, vigilant,  indomitable,  and  hap- 
py, though  constantly  disappointed, 
as  might  have  been  expected.  He 
fiirted  gigantically  on  the  road,  but 
wasted  no   time  about  it.      Nor  in 


these  his  wanderings  did  he  tell  a 
single  female  that  "  marriage  was  not 
one  of  his  habits,  etc." 

And  so  we  leave  him  on  the  tramp, 
"  Pilgrim  of  Friendship,"  as  his  poor 
comrade  was  of  Love. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

The  good-hearted  Catherine  was 
not  happy.  Not  that  she  reproached 
herself  very  deeply  for  not  having 
gone  quickly  enough  to  Sevcnbergen, 
whither  she  was  not  bouiul  to  go  at 
all,  except  on  the  score  of  having  ex- 
cited fidse  hopes  in  Margaret.  But 
she  was  in  dismay  when  she  reflected 
that  Gerard  must  reach  home  in  an- 
other month  at  furthest,  more  likely 
in  a  week.  And  how  should  she  tell 
him  she  had  not  even  kej)t  an  eye 
upon  his  betrothed  ?  Then  there  was 
the  uncertainty  as  to  the  girl's  fate ; 
and  this  uncertainty  sometimes  took 
a  sickening  form. 

"  O  Kate,"  she  groaned,  "  if  she 
should  liavc  gone  and  made  herself 
away." 

"  Mother,  she  would  never  be  so 
wicked." 

"  Ah,  my  lass,  j^ou  know  not  what 
hasty  fools  young  lasses  be,  that  have 
no  mothers  to  keep  'em  straight. 
They  will  fling  themselves  into  the 
water  for  a  man  that  the  next  man 
they  meet  would  ha'  cured  'em  of  in 
a  week.  I  have  known  'em  to  jump  in 
like  brass  one  moment  and  scream 
for  help  in  the  next.  Could  n't  know 
their  own  minds,  ye  see,  even  about 
such  a  trifle  as  yon.  And  then 
there 's  times  when  their  bodies  ail 
like  no  other  living  creatures  ever  I 
could  hear  of,  and  that  strings  up 
their  feelings  so,  the  patience  that  be- 
longs to  them  at  other  times  beyond 
all  living  souls,  barring  an  ass,  seems 
all  to  jump  out  of 'em  at  one  turn,  and 
into  the  water  they  go.  Therefore  I 
say  that  men  are  monsters." 

"  Mother  ! " 

"  Monsters,    and    no   less,   to    go 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


215 


malcing  such  heaps  o'  canals  just  to 
tempt  the  poor  women  in.  They 
know  we  shall  not  cut  our  throats, 
hatin;;  the  sight  of  blood,  and  rating 
our  skins  a  hantle  higher  nor  our 
lives ;  and  as  for  hanging,  while  she 
is  a  fixing  of  the  nail  and  a  making 
of  the  noose,  she  has  time  t'  alter  her 
mind.  But  a  jump  into  a  canal  is  no 
more  than  into  bed  ;  and  the  water  it 
does  all  the  lave,  will  ye,  nill  ye. 
Wily,  look  at  me,  the  mother  o'  nine, 
was  n't  I  agog  to  make  a  hole  in  our 
canal  for  the  nonce  ?  " 

"  Nay,  mother,  I  '11  never  believe  it 
of  you." 

"  Yc  may,  though.  'T  was  in  the 
first  year  of  our  keeping  house  to- 
gether. Eli  had  n't  found  out  my 
weak  stitches  then,  nor  I  his  ;  so  we 
made  a  rent,  pulling  contrariwise ; 
had  a  quarrel.  So  then  I  ran,  crying, 
to  tell  some  gabbling  fool  like  myself 
what  I  had  no  business  to  tell  out  o' 
doors,  except  to  the  saints,  and  there 
was  one  of  our  precious  canals  in  the 
way ;  do  they  take  us  for  teal  ?  0, 
how  tenipting  it  did  look  !  Says  I  to 
mj^sclf,  '  Sith  he  has  let  me  go  out 
of  his  door  quarrelled,  he  shall  see 
me  drowned  next,  and  then  he  will 
change  his  key.  He  will  blubber  a 
good  one,  and  I  shall  look  down  from 
heaven  '  (I  forgot  I  should  be  in  t'oth- 
er part),  'and  see  him  take  on,  and 
O,  but  that  will  be  sweet ! '  and  I  was 
all  a  tiptoe  and  going  in,  only  just 
then  I  thought  I  would  n't.  I  had  a 
new  gown  a  making  for  one  thing, 
and  hard  noon  finished.  So  I  went 
home  instead,  and  what  was  Eli's 
first  word  1  '  Let  yon  flea  stick  i'  the 
wall,  my  lass,'  says  he.  '  Not  a  word 
of  all  I  said  t'  anger  thee  was  sooth, 
but  this  :  I  love  thee.'  These  were 
his  very  words,  I  minded  'era,  being 
the  first  quarrel.  So  I  flung  my 
arms  about  his  neck  and  sobbed  a  bit, 
and  thought  o'  the  canal ;  and  he 
was  no  colder  to  me  than  I  to  him, 
being  a  man  and  a  young  one :  and 
so  then  that  was  better  than  lying  in 
the  water,  and  spoiling  my  wedding 
kirtle,  and  my  fine  new  shoon,  —  old 
10 


John  Bush  made  'era,  that  was  uncle 
to  him  keeps  the  shop  now.  And 
what  was  my  grief  to  hers  1 ' 

Little  Kate   hoped   that  Margaret 

loved  her  father  too  ranch  to  think  of 

leaving  him  so  at  his  age.     "  He  is 

( father   and   mother   and   all   to   her, 

you  know." 

"  Nay,  Kate,  they  do  forget  all 
these  things  in  a  moment  o'  despair, 
when  the  very  sky  seems  black  above 
them.  I  place  raore  faith  in  him 
that  is  unborn  than  on  him  that  is 
ripe  for  the  grave,  to  keep  her  out  o' 
mischief.  For  certes  it  do  go  sore 
against  us  to  die  when  there 's  a  little 
innocent  a  pulling  at  our  hearts  to 
let  un  live,  and  feeding  at  our  very 
veins." 

"  Well,  then,  keep  up  a  good  heart, 
mother."  She  added  that  very  like- 
ly all  these  fears  were  exaggerated. 
SI'.c  ended  by  solemnly  entreating 
her  mother  at  all  events  not  to  per- 
sist in  naming  the  sex  of  Margaret's 
infant.  It  was  so  unlucky,  all  the 
gossips  told  her :  "  dear  heart,  as  if 
there  were  not  as  many  girls  born  as 
boys." 

This  reflection,  though  not  unrea- 
sonable, was  met  with  clamor. 

"  Have  you  the  cruelty  to  threaten 
me  with  a  girl ! !  ■?  I  want  no  more 
girls  while  I  have  you.  What  use 
would  a  lass  be  to  me  ?  Can  I  set 
her  on  my  knee  and  see  my  Gerard 
again  as  1  can  a  boy  ?  I  tell  thee  't  is 
all  settled." 

"  How  may  that  be  1  " 

"  In  my  mind.  And  if  I  am  to  be 
disappointed  i'  the  end,  't  is  n't  for 
you  to  disappoint  rae  beforeliand, 
telling  me  it  is  not  to  be  a  child, 
but  only  a  girl." 

All  these  anxieties,  and,  if  I  may 
be  permitted,  without  disrespect  to 
the  dead,  to  add,  all  this  twaddle 
that  accompanied  them,  were  short- 
ly suspended  by  an  incident  that 
struck  nearer  home,  —  made  Tergou 
furiously  jealous  of  Catherine,  and 
Catherine  weep. 

Marched  up  to  Eli's  door  a  pageant 


216 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE   HEARTH. 


brave  to  the  eye  of  sense,  and  to  the 
vulgar  judgment  noble,  but  to  the 
philosophic  pitiable  more  or  less. 

It  looked  one  animal,  a  centaur ; 
but  on  severe  analysis  proved  two. 
The  human  half  was  sadly  bedizened 
with  those  two  metals,  to  clothe  liis 
carcass  with  which  and  line  his 
pouch  man  has  now  and  then  dis- 
posed of  his  soul ;  still  tlie  horse  was 
the  vainer  brute  of  the  two ;  he  was 
far  worse  beflounced,  bebonnctcd,  and 
bemantled  than  any  fair  lady  rcg- 
nantc  crinolina.  For  the  man,  under 
the  color  of  a  warming-pan,  retained 
nature's  outline.  Eat  it  was  "subaudi 
eqnum  !  "  Scarce  &,  pennyweight  of 
honest  horseflesh  to  be  seen.  Our 
crinoline  spares  the  noble  parts  of 
woman,  and  makes  but  the  baser 
parts  gigantic;  (why  this  preference'?) 
but  this  poor  animal  from  stem  to 
stern  was  swamped  in  finery.  Ilis 
cars  were  hid  in  great  sheaths  of 
white  linen,  tipped  with  silver  and 
blue.  His  body  swaddled  in  stiff 
gorgeous  cloths  descending  to  the 
ground,  except  just  in  front,  where 
they  left  him  r^om  to  mince.    Ilis  tail 

—  though  dear  to  memory,  no  doubt 

—  was  lost  to  sight,  being  tucked 
in  Heaven  knows  how.  Only  his 
eyes  shone  out  like  goggles,  through 
two  holes  pierced  in  the  wall  of  haber- 
dashery, and  his  little  front  hoofs 
peeped  in  and  out  like  rats. 

Yet  did  this  compound,  gorgeous 
and  irrational,  represent  power,  ab- 
solute power;  it  came  straight  from 
a  tournament  at  the  duke's  court, — 
which,  being  on  a  progress,  lay  last 
night  at  a  neighboring  town,  —  to 
execute  the  behests  of  royalty. 

"  \VTiat  ho  ! "  cried  the  upper  half, 
and  on  Eli  emerging,  with  his  wife 
behind  him,  saluted  them.  "  Peace 
be  with  you,  good  people.  Rejoice  ! 
I  am  come  for  your  dwarf." 

Eli  looked  amazed,  and  said  noth- 
ing. But  Catherine  screamed  over 
his  shoulder,  "  You  have  mistook 
your  road,  good  man  ;  here  abides 
510  dwarf." 

"  Nay,  wife,  he  means  our  Giles, 


who  is  somewhat  small  of  stature ; 
why  gainsay  what  gainsaid  may  not 
be '?  " 

"Ay!"  cried  the  pageant,  "that 
is  he,  and  discourseth  like  the  big 
tabor." 

"  His  breast  is  sound,  for  that  mat- 
ter," said  Catherine,  sharply. 

"  And  prompt  with  his  nst-,  though 
at  long  odds." 

"  Else  how  would  the  poor  thing 
keep  his  head  in  such  a  world  as 
this  ?  " 

" 'T  is  well  said,  dame.  Art  as  ready 
with  thy  weapon  as  he ;  art  his  mother, 
likely.  So  bring  him  forth,  and  that 
I)resently.  See,  they  lead  a  stunted 
mule  for  him.  The  duke  hath  need  of 
him,  sore  need  ;  we  are  clean  out  o' 
dwarvcn  ;  and  tiger-cats  ;  which  may 
not  be,  whiles  earth  them  yielded. 
Our  last  hop-o'-my-thumb  tumbled 
down  the  well  t'other  day." 

"  And  think  you  I  '11  let  my  darling 
go  to  such  an  ill-guided  house  as 
yon,  where  the  reckless  trollops  of  ser- 
vants close  not  the  well  mouth,  but 
leave  it  open  to  trap  innocents  like 
wolven  ?  " 

The  representative  of  autocracy  lost 
patience  at  this  unwonted  opposition, 
and  with  stern  look  and  voice  bade 
her  bethink  her  whether  it  was  the 
better  of  the  two,  "  to  have  your  abor- 
tion at  court,  fed  like  a  bishop  and  put 
on  like  a  prince,  or  to  have  all  your 
heads  stricken  off  and  borne  on  poles, 
with  the  bell-man  crying,  'Behold 
the  heads  of  hardy  rebels,  which,  hav- 
ing by  good  luck  a  misbegotten  son, 
did  traitorously  grudge  him  to  the 
duke,  who  is  the  true  father  of  all  his 
folk,  little  or  mickle  ?  '  " 

"  Nay,"  said  Eli,  sadly,  "  miscall 
us  not."  We  be  true  folk,  and  neither 
rebels  nor  traitors.  But  'tis  sudden, 
and  the  poor  lad  is  our  true  flesh  and 
blood,  and  hath  of  late  given  proof 
of  more  sense  than  heretofore." 

"Avails  not  threatening  our  lives," 
whimpered  Catherine,  "  we  grudge 
him  not  to  the  duke  ;  but  in  sooth  he 
cannot  go;  his  linen  is  all  in  holes. 
So  there  is  an  end." 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


217 


Bat  the  male  mind  resisted  this 
rirushcr. 

"  Think  you  the  duke  will  not  find 
linen,  and  cloth  of  gold  to  boot? 
None  so  brave,  none  so  affected,  at 
court,  as  our  monsters,  big  or  wee." 

How  long  the  dispute  might  have 
lasted  before  the  iron  arguments  of 
despotism  achieved  the  inevitable  vic- 
tory I  know  not ;  but  it  was  cut  short 
by  a  party  wliom  neither  disputant 
had  deigned  to  consult. 

The  bone  of  contention  walked 
out  of  the  house,  and  sided  with 
monarchy. 

"  If  my  folk  are  mad,  I  am  not," 
he  roared.  "  I  '11  go  with  you,  and 
on  the  instant." 

At  this  Catherine  set  up  a  piteous 
cry.  She  saw  another  of  her  brood 
escaping  from  under  her  wing  into 
some  unknown  element.  Giles  was 
not  quite  insensible  to  her  distress  so 
simple,  yet  so  eloquent.  He  said, 
"  Nay,  take  not  on,  mother  !  Why, 
't  is  a  godsend.  And  I  am  sick  of 
this  ever  since  Gerard  left  it." 

"  Ah,  cruel  Giles  !  Should  ye  not 
rather  say  she  is  bereaved  of  Gerard  ? 
the  morenecd  of  you  to  stay  aside  her 
and  comfort  her  ! " 

"  0, 1  am  not  going  to  Rome.  Not 
such  a  fool.  I  sliall  never  be  farther 
than  Rotterdam  ;  and  I  '11  often  come 
and  see  you  ;  and  if  I  like  not  the 
place,  who  shall  keep  me  there  ?  Not 
all  the  dukes  in  Christendom." 

"  Good  sense  lies  in  little  bulk," 
said  the  emissary,  approvingly. 
"  Therefore,  Master  Giles,  buss  the 
old  folk,  and  thank  them  for  misbeget- 
ting  of  thee,  and  ho !  you,  —  bring 
hither  his  mule  !  " 

One  of  his  retinue  brought  up  the 
dwarf  mide.  Giles  refused  it  with 
scorn.  And,  on  being  asked  the  rea- 
son, said  it  was  not  just.  "  What, 
would  ye  throw  all  in  one  scale  ? 
put  mucklc  to  muckle,  and  little  to 
wee  ?  Besides,  I  hate  and  scorn 
small  things.  I  '11  go  on  the  high- 
est horse  here,  or  not  at  all." 

The  pursiuvant  cyid  him  attentive- 
ly a  moment,     lie    tiicn   adopted   a 


courteous  manner.  "I  shall  study 
your  will  in  all  things  n'asonal)le. 
(Dismount,  Eric,  yours  is  the  hi'^licst 
horse.)  And  if  you  would  halt  in  the 
town  an  hour  or  so,  while  you  bid 
them  farewell,  say  but  the  word,  and 
your  pleasure  shall  be  my  delight." 

Giles  reflected. 

"Master,"  said  he,  "if  we  wait  a 
month  'twill  be  still  the  same;  my 
mother  is  a  good  soul,  but  her  body 
is  bigger  than  her  spirit.  We  shall 
not  part  without  a  tear  or  two,  and 
the  quicker  'tis  done  the  fewer;  so 
bring  yon  horse  to  me." 

Catherine  threw  her  apron  over  her 
face  and  sobbed.  The  high  horse  was 
brought,  and  Giles  was  for  swarming 
up  his  tail,  like  a  rope ;  but  one  of 
the  servants  cried  out  hastily,  "  For- 
bear, for  he  kicketh."  "  I  '11  kick 
him,"  said  Giles.  "Bring  him  close 
beneath  this  window,  and  I  '11  learn 
you  all  how  to  mount  a  horse  which 
kicketh,  and  will  not  be  clomb  by  the 
tail,  the  staircase  of  a  horse."  And 
he  dashed  into  the  house  and  almost 
immediately  reappeared  at  an  upper 
window  with  a  rope  in  his  hand.  He 
fastened  an  end  somehow,  and,  hold- 
ing the  other,  descended  as  swift  and 
smooth  as  an  oiled  thunderbolt  in  a 
groove ;  and  lighted  astride  his  high 
horse  as  unperceivcd  by  that  animal 
as  a  fly  settling  on  him. 

The  official  lifted  his  hands  to 
heaven  in  mawkish  admiration.  "  1 
have  gotten  a  pearl,"  thought  he ; 
"  and  wow  but  this  will  be  a  good 
day's  work  for  me." 

"  Come,  father,  come,  mother,  buss 
me,  and  bless  me,  and  off  I  go." 

Eli  gave  him  his  blessing,  and  bade 
him  be  honest  and  true,  and  a  cred- 
it to  his  folk.  Catherine  could  not 
speak,  but  clung  to  him  with  many 
sobs  and  embraces  ;  and  even  through 
the  mist  of  tears  her  eyes  detected  in 
a  moment  a  little  rent  in  his  sleeve  ho 
had  made  getting  out  of  window, 
and  she  whipped  out  her  needle  and 
mended  it  then  and  there,  and  het 
tears  fell  on  his  arm  tlie  while,  un- 
heeded,—  except  by  those   untteshlj 


218 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


eyes  with  which  they  say  the  very  air 
is  thronj^ed. 

And  so  the  dwarf  mounted  the  hif^h 
horse,  and  rode  away  complacent 
with  the  old  hand  Iayinj»  the  court 
butter  on  liis  back  with  a  trowel. 
Little  recked  Perpusillus  of  two  poor 
silly  females  that  sat  by  the  bereaved 
hearth,  rocking  themselves,  and  weep- 
inf^,  and  discussing  all  his  virtues, 
and  how  his  mind  had  opened  lately, 
and  blind  as  two  beetles  to  his  faults, 
who  rode  away  from  them  jocund 
and  bold. 

Ingentes  animos  angusto  pcctore 
versans. 

Arrived  at  court  he  speedily  be- 
came a  great  favorite. 

One  strange  propensity  of  his  elec- 
trified the  palace  ;  but  on  account  of 
his  small  size,  and  for  variety's  sake, 
and  as  a  monster,  he  was  indulged  in 
it.  In  a  word,  he  was  let  speak  the 
truth. 

It  is  an  unpopular  thing. 

He  made  it  an  intolerable  one. 

Bawled  it. 


CHAPTER   L. 

Margaret  Brandt  had  always 
held  herself  apart  from  Sevenbergcn  ; 
and  her  reserve  had  passed  for  pride ; 
this  had  come  to  her  ears,  and  she 
knew  many  hearts  were  swelling  with 
jealousy  and  malevolence.  How 
would  they  triumph  over  her  when 
her  condition  could  no  longer  be  con- 
cealed !  This  thought  gnawed  her 
night  and  day.  For  some  time  it 
had  made  her  bury  herself  in  the 
house,  and  shun  daylight  even  on 
those  rare  occasions  when  she  went 
abroad. 

Not  that  in  her  secret  heart  and 
conscience  she  mistook  her  moral  sit- 
uation, as  my  unlearned  readers  have 
done,  perhaps.  Though  not  acquaint- 
ed with  the  nice  distinctions  of  the 
contemporary  law,  she  knew  that  be- 
trothal was  a  marriage  contract,  and 
oouiil  no  more  be  legally  broken  on 


either  side  than  any  other  compact 
written  and  witnessed  ;  and  that  mar 
riage  with  another  party  than  the  be- 
trothed had  been  formally  annulled 
both  by  Church  and  State  ;  and  tha' 
betrothed  couples  often  came  togethef 
without  any  further  ceremony,  and 
their  children  were  legitimate. 

But  what  weighed  down  her  simple 
mediasval  mind  was  this :  that  very 
contract  of  betrothal  was  not  forth- 
coming. Instead  of  her  keeping  it, 
Gerard  had  got  it,  and  Gerard  was 
far,  far  away.  She  hated  and  de- 
spised herself  for  the  miserable  over- 
sight which  had  placed  her  at  the 
mercy  of  false  opinion. 

For  though  she  had  never  heard  of 
Horace's  famous  couplet,  Segnius 
irritant,  &c.,  she  was  iloratian  by 
the  plain,  hard,  positive  intelligeneo 
which,  strange  to  say,  characterizes 
the  judgment  of  her  sex,  when  feel- 
ing happens  not  to  blind  it  alto- 
gether. She  gauged  the  under- 
standing of  the  world  to  a  T.  Her 
marriage  lines  being  out  of  sight,  and 
in  Italy,  would  never  prevail  to  bal- 
ance her  visible  pregnancy,  and  the 
sight  of  her  child  when  born.  What 
sort  of  a  talc  was  this  to  stop  slan- 
derous tongues ?  "I  have  got  my 
marriage  lines,  but  I  cannot  show 
them  you."  What  woman  would  be- 
lieve her,  or  even  pretend  to  believe 
her  ?  And,  as  she  was  in  reality  one 
of  the  most  modest  girls  in  Holland, 
it  was  women's  good  opinion  she 
wanted,  not  men's. 

Even  barefaced  slander  attacks  her 
sex  at  a  great  advantage,  but  here 
was  slander  with  a  face  of  truth. 
"  The  strong-minded  woman  "  had 
not  yet  been  invented ;  and  Marga- 
ret, though  by  nature  and  by  having 
been  early  made  mistress  of  a  family 
she  was  resolute  in  some  respects, 
was  weak  as  water  in  others,  and 
weakest  of  all  in  this.  Like  all  the 
elite  of  her  sex  she  was  a  poor  little 
leaf,  trembling  at  each  gust  of  the 
world's  opinion,  true  or  false.  Much 
misery  may  be  contained  in  fe^« 
words ;  I  doubt  if  pages  of  descripi 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


219 


tion  from  any  man's  pen  could  make 

any  human  creature,  except  virtuous 
women  (and  these  need  no  such  aid), 
realize  the  anguish  of  a  virtuous  wo- 
man foreseeing  herself  paraded  as  a 
frail  one.  Had  she  been  frail  at 
heart,  she  might  have  brazened  it 
out.  But  she  had  not  that  advan- 
tage. She  was  really  pure  as  snow, 
and  saw  the  pitch  coming  nearer  her 
and  nearer.  The  poor  girl  sat  listless 
hours  at  a  time,  and  moaned  with 
inner  anguish.  And  often  when  her 
father  was  talking  to  her,  and  she  giv- 
ing mechanical  replies,  suddenly  her 
cheek  would  bum  like  fire,  and  the 
old  man  would  ^vender  what  he  had 
said  to  discompose  her.  Nothing. 
His  words  were  less  than  air  to  her. 
It  was  the  ever  present  dread  sent  the 
color  of  shame  int»  her  burning  cheek, 
no  matter  what  she  seemed  to  be  talk- 
ing and  thinking  about.  But  both 
shame  and  fear  rose  to  a  climax  when 
she  came  back  that  night  from  Mar- 
garet Van  Eyck's.  Her  condition 
was  discovered,  and  by  persons  of 
her  own  sex.  The  old  artist,  se- 
cluded like  herself,  might  not  betray 
her ;  but  Catherine,  a  gossip  in  the 
centre  of  a  family,  and  a  thick  neigh- 
borhood? One  spark  of  hope  re- 
mained. Catherine  had  spoken  kind- 
ly, even  lovingly.  The  situation 
admitted  no  half  course.  Gerard's 
mother  thus  aroused  must  either  be 
her  best  friend  or  worst  enemy.  She 
waited  then  in  racking  anxiety  to 
hear  more.  No  word  came.  She 
gave  up  hope.  Catherine  was  not 
going  to  be  her  friend.  Then  she 
would  expose  her,  since  she  had  no 
strong  and  kindly  feeling  to  balance 
the  natural  love  of  babbling. 

Then  it  was  the  wish  to  fly  from 
this  neighborhood  began  to  grow  and 
gnaw  upon  her  till  it  became  a  v/ild 
and  passionate  desire.  But  how  per- 
suade her  father  to  this  ?  Old  people 
cling  to  places.  He  was  very  old  and 
infirm  to  change  his  abode.  There 
was  no  course  but  to  make  him  her 
confidant ;  better  so  than  to  run  away 
from  him ;  and  slie  felt  that  would  be 


the  alternative.  And  now,  between 
her  uncontrollable  desire  to  fly  and 
hide  and  her  invincible  aversion  to 
speak  out  to  a  man,  even  to  her  fa- 
ther, she  vibrated  in  a  suspense  full 
of  lively  torture.  And  presently  be- 
twixt tnese  two  came  in  one  day  the 
fatal  thought,  "End  all!"  Things 
foolishly  worded  are  not  always  fool- 
ish ;  one  of  poor  Catherine's  bug- 
bears, these  numerous  canals,  did 
sorely  tempt  this  poor,  fluctuating 
girl.  She  stood  on  the  bank  one  af- 
ternoon, and  eyed  the  calm  deep  wa- 
ter. It  seemed  an  image  of  repose, 
and  she  was  so  harassed.  No  more 
trouble.  No  more  fear  of  shame.  If 
Gerard  had  not  loved  her,  I  doubt  she 
had  ended  there. 

As  it  was,  she  kneeled  by  the  water- 
side, and  prayed  fervently  to  God  to 
keep  such  wicked  thoughts  from  her. 
"  0  selfish  wretch,"  said  she,  "  to 
leave  thy  father.  0  wicked  wretch  to 
kill  thy  child,  and  make  thy  poor  Ge- 
rard lose  all  his  pain  and  peril  under- 
taken for  thy  sight.  I  will  tell  father 
all,  ay,  ere  this  sun  shall  set."  And 
she  went  home  with  eager  haste,  lest 
her  good  resolution  should  ooze  out 
ere  she  got  there. 

Now  in  matters  domestic  the 
learned  Peter  was  simple  as  a  child, 
and  Margaret  from  the  age  of  sixteen 
had  governed  the  house  gently  but 
absolutely.  It  was  therefore  a  strange 
thing  in  this  house,  the  faltering,  ir- 
resolute way  in  which  its  young  but 
despotic  mistress  addressed  that  per- 
son who  in  a  domestic  sense  was  less 
important  than  Martin  Wittenhaagen, 
or  even  than  the  little  girl  who  came 
in  the  morning  and  for  a  pittance 
washed  the  vessels,  &c.,  and  went 
home  at  night. 

"Father,  I  would  speak  to  thee." 

"  Speak  on,  girl." 

"Wilt  listen  to  me?  And  —  and 
—  not  —  and  try  to  excuse  my  faults." 

"  We  have  all  our  faults,  Margaret, 
thou  no  more  than  the  rest  of  us,  but 
fewer,  unless  parental  feeling  blinds 
me." 

"Alas,  no,  father;   I  am  a  poor, 


220 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


foolish  girl,  that  would  fain  do  well, 
but  have  done  ill,  most  ill,  most  un- 
wisely, and  now  must  bear  the  shame. 
But,  "father,  I  love  you,  with  all  my 
faults,  and  will  not  you  forgive  my 
follv,  and  still  love  your  motherless 

&'■■'■•  "  ,,       . , 

"  That  ye   may    count  on,      said 

Peter,  cheerfully. 

"  O  no,  smile  not.  For  then  how 
can  I  speak  and  make  you  sad  ?  " 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  ?  "    . 

"  Father,  disgrace  is  coming  on  this 
house ;  it  is  at  the  door.  And  I  the 
culprit.  O  father,  turn  your  head 
away.  I  —  I  —  father,  I  have  let  Ge- 
rard take  away  my  marriage  lines." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  'T  was  an  oversight. 
'T  was  the  deed  of  a  madwoman." 

"  But,  woe  is  me !  that  is  not  the 
worst." 

Peter  intemipted  her.  "  The  youth 
is  honest,  and  loves  you  dear.  You 
arc  young.  What  is  a  year  or  two  to 
you  *  Gerard  will  assuredly  come 
"back  and  keep  troth." 

"  And  meantime  know  you  what  is 
coming  ? " 

"  Not  I,  except  that  I  shall  be  gone 
first  for  one.  Worse  than  that. 
There  is  worse  pain  than  death." 

"  Nay,  for  pity's  sake,  turn  away 
your  head,  father." 

"  Foolish  wench  ! "  muttered  Peter, 
but  turned  liis  bead. 

She  trembled  violently,  and  with 
her  cheeks  on  fire  began  to  falter  out, 
"I  did  look  on  Gerard  as  my  hus- 
band, —  we  being  betrothed,  —  and  he 
was  in  so  sore  danger,  and  I  thought 
I  had  killed  him,  and  I —  O,  if  you 
were  but  my  mother  I  might  find 
courage ;  she  would  question  me. 
But  you  say  not  a  word." 

"  Why,  Margaret,  what  is  all  this 
coil  about?  and  why  are  thy  cheeks 
crimson,  speaking  to  no  stranger,  but 
to  thy  old  father  ? " 

"  Why  are  my  cheeks  on  fire  ?  Be- 
cause —  because  —  Father,  kill  me  ! 
send  me  to  heaven !  bid  Martin  shoot 
me  with  his  arrow !  And  then  the 
gossips  will  come  and  tell  you  why  I 
blush  so  this  day.     And  Uien,  when  I 


am  dead,  I  hope  you  will  love  your 
girl  again  for  her  mother's  sake.' 

"  Give  me  thy  hand,  mistress,"  said 
Peter,  a  little  sternly. 

She  put  it  out  to  him,  trembling. 
He  took  it  gently,  and  began  with 
some  anxiety  in  his  face  to  feel  her 
pulse. 

"  Alas,  nay  ! "  said  she.  "  'T  is 
my  soul  that  burns,  not  my  body, 
with  fever.  I  cannot,  will  not,  bide 
in  Sevenbergen."  And  she  wrung 
her  hands  impatiently. 

"  Be  calm,  now,"  said  the  old  man, 
soothingly,  "  nor  torment  thyself  for 
naught.  Not  bide  in  Sevenbergen? 
What  need  to  bide  a  day,  as  it  vexes 
thee,  and  puts  thee  in  a  fever ;  for  fe- 
vei'ed  thou  art,  deny  it  not." 

"  What !  "  cried  Margaret,  "  would 
you  yield  to  go  ho^cc,  and  —  ask  no 
reason  but  my  longing  to  be  gone  ?  " 
and,  suddenly  throwing  herself  on  her 
knees  beside  him,  in  a  fervor  of  sup- 
plication she  clutched  his  sleeve,  and 
then  his  arm,  and  then  his  shoulder, 
while  imploring  him  to  quit  this  place, 
and  not  ask  her  why.  "Alas!  what 
needs  it  ?  You  will  soon  see  it.  And 
I  could  never  say  it.  I  would  liever 
die." 

"  Foolish  child  !  Who  seeks  thy 
girlish  secrets  ?  Is  it  I,  whose  life 
hath  been  spent  in  searching  Na- 
ture's '^  and,  for  leaving  Sevenbergen, 
what  is  there  to  keep  me  in  it,  thee 
unwilling  ?  Is  there  respect  for  me 
here,  or  gratitude?  Am  I  not  yclept 
quacksalver  by  those  that  come  not 
near  me,  and  wizard  by  those  I  heal  ? 
And  give  they  not  the  guerdon  and 
the  honor  they  deny  me  to  the  em- 
pirics that  slaughter  them  ?  Besides, 
what  is  't  to  me  where  we  sojourn  ? 
Choose  thou  that,  as  did  thy  mother 
before  thee." 

Margaret  embraced  him  tenderly, 
and  wept  upon  his  shoulder. 

She  was  respited. 

Yet  as  she  wept,  respited,  she  al- 
most wished  she  had  had  the  courage 
to  tell  him. 

After  a  while  nothing  would  con- 
tent him  but  her  taking  a  mcdica 


THE    CLOISTER   AND    THE    HEARTH. 


221 


ment  he  went  and  bron<i;ht  her.  She 
took  it  submissively,  to  please  him. 
It  was  the  least  she  could  do.  It  was 
a  composing  draught,  and  though 
administered  under  an  error,  and  a 
common  one,  did  her  more  good  than 
harm  ;  she  awoke  calmed  by  a  long 
sleep,  and  that  very  day  began  her 
preparations. 

Next  week  they  went  to  Rotterdam, 
bag  and  baggage,  and  lodged  above 
a  tailor's  shop  in  the  liredc-kirk 
Siraet. 

Only  one  person  in  Tergou  knew 
whither  they  were  gone. 

And  it  was  not  his  cue  to  tell. 


CHAPTER  LI. 

Among  strangers  Margaret  Brandt 
was  comparatively  happy.  And  soon 
a  new  and  unexpected  cause  of  con- 
tent arose.  A  ci^dc  dignitary  being 
ill,  and  fanciful  in  proportion,  went 
from  doctor  to  doctor ;  and,  having 
arrived  at  Death's  door,  sent  for 
Peter.  Peter  found  him  bled  and 
purged  to  nothing.  He  flung  a  bat- 
talion of  bottles  out  of  window, 
and  left  it  open  ;  beat  up  yolks  of  eggs 
in  neat  Schiedam,  and  administered 
it  in  small  doses  :  followed  this  up  by 
meat  stewed  in  red  wine  and  water, 
shredding  into  both  mild  febrifugal 
herbs,  that  did  no  harm.  Finally, 
his  patient  got  about  again,  looking 
somewhat  between  a  man  and  a  pil- 
low-case, and,  being  a  voluble  digni- 
tary-, spread  Peter's  fame  in  every 
street ;  and  that  artist,  who  had  long 
merited  a  reputation  in  vain,  made 
one  rapidly  by  luck.  Things  looked 
bright.  "The  old  man's  pride  was 
cheered  at  last,  and  his  purse  began 
to  fill.  He  spent  much  of  his  gain, 
however,  in  sovereign  herbs  and 
choice  drugs,  and  would  have  so  in- 
vested them  all,  but  Margaret  white- 
maili'<l  a  part.  The  victory  came 
too  late.  The  happy  cxcitemcTit  was 
fat.il. 

One  evening,  in  bidding  licr  good 


night,  his  voice  seemed  rather  inar- 
ticulate. 

The  next  morning  he  was  found 
speechless,  and  only  just  sensible. 

Margaret,  who  had  been  for  years 
her  father's  attentive  pupil,  saw  at 
once  that  he  had  had  a  paralytic 
stroke.  But,  not  trusting  to  herself, 
she  ran  for  a  doctor.  One  of  those 
who,  obstructed  by  Peter,  had  not 
killed  the  civic  dignitary,  came,  and 
cheerfully  confirmed  her  views.  He 
was  for  bleeding  the  patient.  She 
declined.  "  He  was  always  against 
bleeding,"  said  she,  "  especially  the 
old."  Peter  lived,  but  was  never  the 
same  man  again.  His  memory  be- 
came much  affected,  and  of  course  he 
was  not  to  be  trusted  to  prescribe ; 
and  several  patients  had  come,  and 
one  or  two,  that  were  bent  on  being 
cured  by  the  new  doctor  and  ho  other, 
awaited  his  convalescence.  Mi.-^ery 
stared  her  in  the  face.  She  resolved  to 
go  for  advice  and  comfort  to  her  cousin 
William  Johnstone,  from  whom  she 
had  hitherto  kept  aloof  out  of  pride 
and  poverty.  She  found  him  and  his 
servant  sitting  in  the  same  room, 
and  neither  of  them  the  better  for 
liquor.  Mastering  all  signs  of  sur- 
prise, she  gave  her  greetings,  and 
presently  told  him  she  had  come  to 
talk  on  a  family  matter,  and  with  this 
glanced  quietly  at  the  servant  by  way 
of  hint.  The  woman  took  it,  but  not 
as  expected. 

"  0,  you  can  speak  before  me,  — 
can  she  not,  my  old  man  ? " 

At  this  familiarity  Margaret  turned 
very  red,  and  said  :  — 

"  I  cry  you  mercy,  mistress.  I 
knew  not  my  cousin  had  fallen  into 
the  custom  of  this  town.  Well,  I 
must  take  a  fitter  opportunity  "  ;  and 
she  rose  to  go. 

"  I  wot  not  what  ye  mean  by  cus- 
tom o'  the  town,"  said  the  woman, 
bouncing  up.  "  But  this  I  know  ; 
't  is  the  part  of  a  faithful  servant  to 
keep  her  master  from  being  preyed 
on  by  his  beggarly  kin." 

Margaret  retorted  :  "  Ye  are  too 
modest,  mistress.     Ye  are  no  servant. 


222 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


Your  speech  betrays  you.  'T  is  not 
till  the  ape  hath  mounted  the  tree 
that  she  shows  her  tail  so  plain. 
Nay,  there  sits  the  servant ;  God  help 
him  !  And  while  so  it  is,  fear  not 
thou  his  kin  will  ever  be  so  poor  in 
spirit  as  come  where  the  likes  of  you 
can  flout  their  dole."  And,  casting 
one  look  of  mute  reproach  at  her 
cousin  for  being  so  little  of  a  man  as 
to  sit  passive  and  silent  all  this  time, 
she  turned  and  went  haughtily  out ; 
nor  would  she  shed  a  single  tear  till 
she  got  home  and  thought  of  it.  And 
now  here  were  two  men  to  be  lodged 
and  fed  by  one  pregnant  girl,  and  an- 
other mouth  coming  into  the  world. 

But  this  last,  though  the  most 
helpless  of  all,  was  their  best  friend. 

Nature  was  strong  in  Margaret 
Brandt,  —  that  same  nature  which 
makes  the  brutes,  the  birds,  and  the 
insects  so  cunning  at  providing  food 
and  shelter  for  their  progeny  yet  to 
come. 

Stimulated  by  nature  she  sat  and 
brooded  and  brooded,  and  thought 
and  thought,  how  to  be  beforehand 
with  destitution.  Ay,  though  she 
had  still  five  gold  pieces  left,  she  saw 
starvation  coming  with  inevitable 
foot. 

Her  sex,  when,  deviating  from  cus- 
tom, it  thinks  with  male  intensity, 
thinks  just  as  much  to  the  purpose 
as  we  do.  She  rose,  bade  Martin 
move  Peter  to  another  room,  made 
her  own  very  neat  and  clean,  polished 
the  glass  globe,  and  suspended  it  from 
the  ceiling  ;  dusted  the  crocodile,  and 
nailed  him  to  the  outside  wall :  and, 
after  duly  instructing  Martin,  set  him 
to  play  the  lounging  sentinel  about 
the  street  door,  and  tell  the  crocodile- 
bitten  that  a  great  and  aged  learned 
alchymist  abode  there,  who  in  his 
moments  of  recreation  would  some- 
times amuse  himself  by  curing  mortal 
diseases. 

Patients  soon  came,  and  were  re- 
ceived by  Margaret,  and  demanded  to 
see  the  leech.  "  That  might  not  be. 
He  was  deep  in  his  studies,  searching 
for  the  grand  elixir,  and  not  princes 


could  have  speech  of  him.  They 
must  tell  her  their  symptoms,  and 
return  in  two  hours."  And,  O 
mysterious  powers  !  when  they  did 
return,  the  drug  or  draught  was  al- 
ways ready  for  them.  Sometimes, 
when  it  was  a  worshipful  patient,  she 
would  carefully  scan  his  face,  and 
feeling  both  pulse  and  skin,  as  well 
as  hearing  his  story,  would  go  softly 
with  it  to  Peter's  room,  and  there 
think  and  ask  herself  how  her  father, 
whose  system  she  had  long  quietly 
observed,  would  have  treated  the  case. 
Then  she  would  write  an  illegible 
scrawl  with  a  cabalistic  letter,  and 
bring  it  down,  reverentially,  and  show 
it  the  patient,  and  "  Could  he  read 
that '?  "  Then  it  v/ould  be  either  "  I 
am  no  reader,"  or,  with  admiration, 
"  Nay,  mistress,  naught  can  I  make 
on  't." 

"  Ay,  but  I  can.  'T  is  sovereign. 
Look  on  thyself  as  cured  !  "  If  she 
had  the  materials  by  her,  and  she 
was  too  good  an  economist  uut  to 
favor  somewhat  those  medicines  she 
had  in  her  own  stock,  she  would  some- 
times let  the  patient  see  her  compound 
it,  often  and  anxiously  consulting  the 
sacred  prescription,  lest  great  Science 
should  suffer  in  her  hands.  And  so  she 
would  send  them  away  relieved  of  cash, 
but  with  their  pockets  full  of  medi- 
cine and  minds  full  of  faith,  and  hum- 
bugged to  their  hearts'  content.  Popu- 
lus  vult  decipi.  And  when  they  were 
gone  she  would  take  down  two  little 
boxes  Gerard  had  made  her  ;  and  on 
one  of  these  she  had  written  To-day,  and 
on  the  other  To-morrow,  and  put  the 
smaller  coins  into  "  To-day,"  and  the 
larger  into  "  To-raonow,"  along  with 
such  of  her  gold  pieces  as  had  sur- 
vived the  journey  from  Sevenbergen 
and  the  expenses  of  housekeeping  in 
a  strange  place.  And  so  she  met  cur- 
rent expenses,  and  laid  by  for  the  rainy 
day  she  saw  coming,  and  mixed  drugs 
with  simples,  and  vice  with  virtue. 
On  this  last  score  her  conscience 
pricked  her  sore,  and  after  each  day's 
comedy  she  knelt  down  and  prayed 
God  to  forgive  her  "  for  the  sake  of 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


223 


her  child."  But,  lo  and  behold,  cure 
after  cure  was  reported  to  her ;  so 
then  her  conscience  began  to  harden. 
Martin  Wittenhaagen  had  of  late  been 
a  dead  weight  on  her  hands.  Like 
most  men  who  have  endured  great 
hardships,  he  had  stiffened  rather  sud- 
•denly.  But,  though  less  supple,  he 
was  strong  as  ever,  and  at  his  own 
pace  could  have  carried  the  doctor 
herself  round  Rotterdam  city.  He 
carried  her  slops  instead. 

In  this  new  business  he  showed  the 
qualities  of  a  soldier,  —  unreasoning 
obedience,  punctuality,  accuracy,  de- 
epatch,  and  drunkenness. 

He  fell  among  "  good  fellows  "  ; 
the  blackguards  plied  him  with 
Schiedam ;  he   babbled,  he  bragged. 

Doctor  Margaret  had  risen  very 
high  in  his  estimation.  All  this 
brandishing  of  a  crocodile  for  a 
standard,  and  setting  a  dotard  in 
ambush,  and  getting  rid  of  slops, 
and  taking  good  money  in  exchange, 
struck  him  not  as  Science,  but  some- 
thing far  superior.  Strategy.  And 
he  boasted  in  his  cups  and  before  a 
mixed  company  how  "  me  and  my 
General,  we  are  a  biting  of  the  burgh- 
ers." 

When  this  revelation  had  had  time 
to  leaven  the  city,  his  General,  Doctor 
Margaret,  received  a  call  from  the 
constables ;  they  took  her,  trembling 
and  begging  subordinate  machines  to 
forgive  her,  before  the  burgomaster ; 
and  by  his  side  stood  real  physicians, 
a  terrible  row,  in  long  robes  and 
square  caps,  accusing  her  of  practis- 
ing unlawfully  on  the  bodies  of  the 
duke's  lieges.  At  first  she  was  too 
frightened  to  say  a  word.  Novice 
like,  the  very  name  of  "  Law  "  para- 
lyzed her.  But  being  questioned 
closely,  but  not  so  harshly  as  if  she 
had  been  ugly,  she  told  the  truth  ; 
she  had  long  been  her  father's  pupil, 
and  had  but  followed  his  system,  and 
she  had  cured  many,  "  And  it  is  not 
for  myself  in  very  deed,  sirs,  but  I 
have  two  poor  helpless  honest  men  at 
home  upon  my  hands,  and  how  else 
Cftn  I  keep  them  ?  Ah,  good  sirs,  let 
10* 


a  poor  girl  make  her  bread  honestly  ; 
ye  hinder  them  not  to  make  it  idly 
and  shamefully  ;  and,  O  sirs,  ye  are 
husbands,  ye  are  fathers  ;  ye  cannot 
but  see  I  have  reason  to  work  and 
provide  as  best  I  may  " ;  and  ere  this 
woman's  appeal  had  left  her  lips  she 
would  have  given  the  world  to  recall 
it,  and  stood  with  one  hand  upon  her 
heart  and  one  before  her  face,  hiding 
it,  but  not  the  tears  that  trickled  un- 
derneath it.  All  which  went  to  the 
wrong  address.  Perhaps  a  female 
bailiff  might  have  yielded  to  such  ar- 
guments, and  bade  her  practise  medi- 
cine and  break  laws  till  such  time  as 
her  child  should  be  weaned,  and  no 
longer. 

"  What  have  we  to  do  with  that  1 " 
said  the  burgomaster,  "  save  and  ex- 
cept that,  if  thou  wilt  pledge  thyself 
to  break  the  law  no  more,  I  will  remit 
the  imprisonment,  and  exact  but  the 
fine." 

On  this  Doctor  Margaret  clasped 
her  hands  together,  and  vowed  most 
penitently  never,  never,  never  to  cure 
body  or  beast  again  ;  and,  being  dis- 
missed with  the  constables  to  pay 
the  fine,  she  turned  at  the  door,  and 
courtesied,  poor  soul,  and  thanked  the 
gentlemen  for  their  forbearance. 

And  to  pay  the  fine  the  "  to-morrow 
box  "  must  be  opened  on  the  instant ; 
and  with  excess  of  caution  she  had 
gone  and  nailed  it  up,  that  no  slight 
temptation  might  prevail  to  open  it. 
And  now  she  could  not  draw  the 
nails,  and  the  constables  grew  im- 
patient, and  doubted  its  contents,  and 
said,  "  Let  us  break  it  for  you."  But 
she  would  not  let  them.  "  Ye  will 
break  it  worse  than  I  shall."  And 
she  took  a  hammer,  and  struck  too 
faintly,  and  lost  all  strength  for  a 
minute,  and  wept  hysterically ;  and  at 
last  she  broke  it,  and  a  little  cry  broke 
from  her  when  it  broke ;  and  she  paid 
the  fine,  and  it  took  all  her  unlawful 
gains  and  two  gold  pieces  to  boot ; 
and,  when  the  men  were  gone,  she 
drew  the  broken  pieces  of  the  box, 
and  what  little  money  they  had  left 
her,  all  together  on  the  table,  and  hel 


224 


THE   CLOISTKR   AND   THK   IIKARTH. 


arms  went  round  them,  and  her  rich 
liair  escaped  atid  fell  down  all  loose, 
and  she  bowed  her  forehead  on  the 
wreck,  and  sobbed,  "  My  love's  box 
it  is  broken,  and  my  heart  withal  " ; 
and  so  remained.  And  Martin  Wit- 
tcn!iaa;^en  came  in,  and  she  could  not 
lift  her  head,  but  sij^hed  but  to  him 
what  had  befallen  her,  ending,  "  My 
love  his  box  is  broken,  and  so  mine 
heart  is  broken." 

And  Martin  was  not  so  sad  as 
wroth.  Some  traitor  had  betrayed 
him.  What  stony  heart  had  told,  and 
brought  her  to  this  pass  ?  Whoever 
it  was  should  feel  his  arrow's  point. 
The  curious  attitude  in  whicii  he 
mu^t  deliver  the  shaft  never  occurred 
to  him. 

"  Idle  chat !  idle  chat !  "  moaned 
Margaret,  without  lifting  her  brow 
from  the  table.  "  When  you  have 
slain  all  the  gossips  in  this  town,  can 
we  eat  them  ?  Tell  me  how  to  keep 
you  all,  or  prithee  hold  thy  peace,  and 
let  the  saints  get  leave  to  whisper 
me.  "  Martin  held  his  tongue,  and 
cast  uneasy  glances  at  Ids  defeated 
General. 

Towards  evening  she  rose,  and 
washed  her  face  and  did  up  her  hair, 
and  doggedly  bade  Martin  take  down 
the  crocodile,  and  put  out  a  basket 
instead. 

"  I  can  get  up  linen  better  than 
they  seem  to  do  it  in  this  street," 
said  she,  "  and  you  must  carry  it  in 
the  basket." 

"  That  will  I  for  thy  sake,"  said  the 
soldier. 

"  Good  Martin  !  forgive  me  that  I 
spake  shrcwishly  to  thee." 

Even  while  they  were  talking  came 
a  male  for  advice.  Margaret  told 
it  the  mayor  had  interfered  and  for- 
bidden her  to  sell  drugs.  "But," 
said  she,  "  I  will  gladly  iron  and 
starch  your  linen  for  you,  and  —  I 
will  come  and  fetch  it  from  your 
house." 

"  Are  ye  mad,  young  woman  ?  " 
said  the  male.  "  I  come  for  a  leech 
and  ye  proffer  me  a  washerwoman  "  ; 
and  it  went  out  in  dudgeon. 


"  There  is  a  stupid  creature,"  said 
Margaret,  sadly. 

Presently  came  a  female  to  tell  tho 
symptoms  of  her  sick  child.  Mar- 
garet stopped  it. 

"  We  are  forbidden  by  the  bailiff  to 
sell  drugs.  But  1  will  ghully  wash, 
iron,  anil  starch  your  linen  for  you. 
—  and  —  I  will  come  and  fetch  it 
from  your  house." 

"  Oh !  ay,"  said  the  female.  "  Well, 
I  have  some  smocks  and  ruffs  foul. 
Come  for  them  ;  and  when  you  are 
there,  you  can  look  at  the  boy  "  ;  and 
it  told  her  where  it  lived,  and  when 
its  husband  would  be  out  ;  yet  it  was 
rather  fond  of  its  husband  than  not. 

An  introduction  is  an  introduction. 
And  two  or  three  patients,  out  of  all 
those  who  came  and  were  ilenied  med- 
icine, made  Doctor  Margaret  their 
washerwoman. 

"  Now,  Martin,  you  must  help. 
I  '11  no  more  cats  than  can  slay 
mice." 

"  Mistress,  tho  stomach  is  not  a 
wanting  for 't,  but  the  head-piece, 
worse  luck." 

"  Oh !  I  mean  not  the  starching 
and  ironing  ;  that  takes  a  woman  and 
a  handy  one.  But  the  bare  washing, 
a  man  can  surely  contrive  that.  Why, 
a  mule  has  wit  enough  in  's  head  to 
do  't  with  his  hoofs,  an  ve  could 
drive  him  into  the  tub.  Come,  off 
doublet,  and  try." 

"  I  am  your  man,"  said  the  brave 
old  soldier,  stripping  for  the  unwonted 
toil.  "  I  '11  risk  my  arm  in  soapsuds, 
an  you  will  risk  your  glory." 

"■  My  what  ?  " 

"  Your  glory  and  honor  as  a  — 
washerwoman." 

"  Gramercy  !  if  you  are  man 
enough  to  bring  me  half-washed  linen 
t'  iron,  I  am  woman  enough  to  fling  't 
back  i'  the  suds." 

And  so  the  brave  girl  and  the 
brave  soldier  worked  with  a  will,  .and 
kept  the  wolf  from  the  door.  More 
they  could  not  do.  Margaret  had  re- 
])aired  the  "  to-morrow  box,"  and,  as 
she  leaned  over  the  glue,  her  tears 
mixed  with  it,  and  she  cemented  her 


THE    CLOISTER    AND    THE   HEARTH. 


225 


exiled  lover's  box  with  them,  at 
which  a  smile  is  allowable,  but  an 
intelligent  smile  tipped  with  pity, 
please,  and  not  the  empty  guffaw  of 
the  nineteenth-century  jackass,  bur- 
lesquing Bibles,  and  making  fun  of 
all  things  except  fun.  But  when 
mended  it  stood  unreplenishcd.  They 
kept  the  weekly  rent  paid,  and  the 
pot  boiling,  but  no  more. 

And  now  came  a  concatenation. 
Recommended  from  one  to  another, 
Margaret  washed  for  the  mayor. 
And,  bringing  home  the  clean  lin- 
en one  day,  she  heard  in  the  kitchen 
that  his  worship's  only  daughter  was 
stricken  with  disease,  and  not  like 
to  live.  Poor  Margaret  could  not 
help  cross-questioning,  and  a  female 
servant  gave  her  such  of  the  symp- 
toms as  she  had  observed.  But  they 
were  too  general.  However,  one  gos- 
sip would  add  one  fact,  and  another 
another.  And  Margaret  pondered 
them  all. 

At  last  one  day  she  met  the  mayor 
himself.     He  recognized  her  directly. 

"  AVTiy,  you  are  the  unlicensed  doc- 
tor." "I  was,"  said  she,  "but  now 
I  'm  your  worship's  washerwoman." 
The  dignitary  colored,  and  said  that 
was  rather  a  come-dowTi. 

"  Nay,  I  bear  no  malice ;  for  your 
worship  might  have  been  harder. 
Rather  would  I  do  you  a  good  turn. 
Sir,  you  have  a  sick  daughter.  Let 
me  see  her." 

The  mayor  shook  his  head.  "  That 
cannot  be.  The  law  I  do  enforce  on 
others  I  may  not  break  myself." 
Margaret  opened  her  eyes.  "  Alack, 
sir,  I  seek  no  guerdon  now  for  curing 
folk  ;  why,  I  am  a  washerwoman.  I 
trow  one  may  heal  all  the  world,  an' 
if  one  will  but  let  the  world  starve 
one  in  return."  "  That  is  no  more 
than  just,"  said  the  mayor ;  he  add- 
ed, "  an  ye  make  no  trade  on 't, 
there  is  no  offence."  "  Then  let  me 
see  her." 

"  What  avails  it "?  The  learnedst 
leeches  in  Rotterdam  have  all  seen 
her,  and  bettered  her  nanght.  Her 
ill  is  inscrutable.     Oftc  skilled  wight 


saith  spleen  ;  another,  liver  ;  another, 
blood  ;  another,  stomach  ;  and  anoth- 
er, that  she  is  possessed  ;  and,  in  very 
truth,  she  seems  to  have  a  demon ; 
shunneth  all  company ;  pineth  alone  ; 
eateth  no  more  victuals  than  miglit 
diet  a  sparrow.  Speaketh  seldom,  nor 
hearkens  them  that  speak,  and  wear- 
eth  thinner  and  paler  and  nearer  and 
nearer  the  grave,  well-a-day  !  "  "  Sir," 
said  Margaret,  "  an'  if  you  take  your 
velvet  doublet  to  half  a  dozen  of 
shops  in  Rotterdam,  and  speer  is  this 
fine  or  sorry  velvet,  and  worth  how 
much  the  ell,  those  six  traders  will 
eye  it  and  feel  it,  and  all  be  in  one 
story  to  a  letter.  And  why  1  Be- 
cause they  know  their  trade.  And 
your  leeches  are  all  in  different  stories. 
Why  ?  Because  they  know  not  their 
trade.  I  have  heard  my  father  say 
each  is  enamored  of  some  one  evil, 
and  sceth  it  with  his  bat's  eye  in  every 
patient.  Had  they  stayed  at  home, 
and  ne'er  seen  your  daughter,  they 
had  answered  all  the  same,  spleen, 
blood,  stomach,  lungs,  liver,  lunacy, 
or,  as  they  call  it,  possession.  Let  me 
see  her.  We  are  of  a  sex,  and  that  is 
much."  And  when  he  still  hesitated, 
"  Saints  of  heaven  !  "  cried  she,  giv- 
ing way  to  the  irritability  of  a  breed- 
ing woman,  "  is  this  how  men  love 
their  own  flesh  and  blood  ?  Her 
mother  had  ta'en  me  in  her  arms  ere 
this,  and  carried  me  to  the  sick- 
room." And  two  violet  eyes  flashed 
fire. 

"  Come  with  me,"  said  the  mayor, 
hastily. 

"  Mistress,  I  have  brought  thee  a 
new  doctor." 

The  person  addressed,  a  pale  young 
girl  of  eighteen,  gave  a  contemptuous 
wrench  of  her  shoulder,  and  turned 
more  decidedly  to  the  fire  she  was  sit- 
ting over. 

Margaret  came  softly  and  sat  be- 
side her.  "But  'tis  one  that  will  not 
torment  you." 

"  A  woman  !  "  exclaimed  the  young 
lady,  with  surprise  and  some  cou' 
tempt. 


226 


THE  CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


"  Tell  her  your  symptoms." 

"  What  for  1  You  will  be  no 
wiser." 

"  You  will  bo  none  the  worse." 

"  Well,  I  have  no  stomach  for  food, 
and  no  heart  for  anything.  Now 
cure  me,  and  go." 

"  Patience  awhile  !  Your  food,  is 
it  tasteless  like  in  your  moulh  1  " 

"  Ay.     How  knew  you  that  ?  " 

"  Nay,  I  knew  it  not  till  you  di<l 
tell  me.  I  trow  you  would  be  better 
for  a  little  good  company." 

"  I  trow  not.  What  is  their  silly 
chat  to  me  1  " 

Here  Margaret  requested  the  father 
to  leave  them  alone ;  and  in  his  ab- 
sence put  some  practical  questions. 
Then  she  reflected. 

"  When  you  wake  i'  the  morning 
you  find  yourself  quiver,  as  one  may 
say  ?  " 

"Nay.  Ay.   How  knew  you  that  ?  " 

"  Shall  I  dose  you,  or  shall  I 
but  tease  you  a  bit  with  my  '  silly 
chat '  ■?  " 

"  Which  you  will." 

"  Then  I  will  tell  you  a  story.  'T  is 
about  two  true  lovers." 

"  I  hate  to  hear  of  lovers,"  said  the 
girl  ;  "  nevertheless  canst  tell  me  ; 
t  will  be  less  nauseous  than  your 
physic,  —  maybe." 

Margaret  then  told  her  a  love  story. 
The  maiden  was  a  girl  called  Ursel, 
and  the  youth  one  Conrad;  she  an 
old  physician's  daughter,  he  the  son 
of  a  hosier  at  Tergou.  She  told  their 
adventures,  their  troubles,  their  sad 
condition.  She  told  it  from  the  female 
point  of  view,  and  in  a  sweet  and 
winning  and  earnest  voice,  that  by 
degrees  soon  laid  hold  of  this  sullen 
heart,  and  held  it  breathless ;  and, 
when  she  broke  it  off,  her  patient  was 
much  disappointed. 

"  Nay,  nay,  I  must  hear  the  end.  I 
will  hear  it." 

"  You  cannot,  for  I  know  it  not ; 
none  knoweth  that  but  God." 

"  Ah,  your  Ursel  was  a  jewel  of 
worth,"  said  the  girl,  earnestly. 
"  Would  she  were  here." 

"  Instead  of  her  that  is  here." 


"  I  say  not  that "  ;  and  she  blushed 
a  little. 

"  You  do  but  think  it." 

"  Thought  is  free.  Whether  or  no, 
an  she  were  here,  I  'd  give  her  a  buss, 
])oor  thing." 

"  Then  give  it  me,  for  I  am  she." 

"  Nay,  nay,  that  I  '11  be  sworn  y' 
are  not. 

"  Say  not  so ;  in  very  truth  I  am 
she.  And  prithee,  sweet  mistress,  go 
not  from  your  word,  but  give  me  the 
buss  you  promised  me,  and  with  a 
good  heart,  for  O,  my  own  heart  lies 
heavy, — heavy  as  thine,  sweet  mis- 
tress." 

The  young  gentlewoman  rose,  and 
put  her  arms  round  Margaret's  neck, 
and  kissed  her.  "  I  am  woe  for  you," 
she  sighed.  "  You  are  a  good  soul ; 
you  have  done  me  good,  —  a  little." 
(A  gulp  came  in  her  throat.)  "  Como 
again  !  come  often  !  " 

Margaret  did  come  again,  and  talked 
with  her,  and  gently,  but  keenly, 
watched  what  topics  interested  her, 
and  found  there  was  but  one.  Then 
she  said  to  the  mayor,  "  I  know 
your  daughter's  trouble,  and  't  is  cur- 
able." 

"  What  is  't  1  the  blood  ?  " 

"  Nay." 

"  The  stomach  ?  " 

"  Nay." 

"  The  liver  ?  " 

"  Nay." 

"  The  foul  fiend  ?  " 

'■  Nay." 

"  What  then  ?  " 

"Love." 

"  Love  ?  stuff,  impossible  !  She  is 
but  a  child ;  she  never  stirs  abroad 
unguarded.  She  never  hath  from  a 
child." 

"  All  the  better ;  then  we  shall  not 
have  far  to  look  for  him." 

"  I  trow  not.  I  shall  but  com« 
mand  her  to  tell  me  the  caitiff's  name 
that  hath  by  magic  arts  ensnared  her 
young  affections." 

"  0,  how  foolish  be  the  wise  I "  said 
Margaret ;  "  what,  would  ye  go  and 
put  her  on  her  guard  ?  Nay,  let  us 
work  by  art  first ;  and,  if  that  fails, 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


227 


then  *t  will  still  be  time  for  violence 
and  lolly." 

Margaret  then  with  some  difficulty 
prevailed  on  the  mayor  to  take  advan- 
tage of  its  being  Saturday,  and  pay 
all  liis  people  their  salaries  in  his 
daughter's  presence  and  hers. 

It  was  done ;  some  fifteen  people 
entered  the  room,  and  received  their 
pay  with  a  kind  word  from  their  em- 
ployer. Then  Margaret,  who  had  sat 
close  to  the  patient  all  the  time,  rose 
and  went  out.  The  mayor  followed 
her. 

"  Sir,  how  call  vou  von  black-haired 
lad  ?  " 

"  That  is  Ulrich,  my  clerk." 

"  Well,  then,  't  is  he." 

"  Now  Heaven  forbid  !  a  lad  I  took 
out  of  the  streets." 

"  Well,  but  your  worship  is  an  un- 
derstanding man.  You  took  him  not 
up  without  some  merit  of  his." 

"  Merit  ?  not  a  jot !  I  liked  the 
looks  of  the  brat,  that  was  all." 

"  Was  that  no  merit  ?  He  pleased 
the  father's  eye.  And  now  he  hath 
pleased  the  daughter's.  That  has  oft 
been  since  Adam." 

"  How  know  ye  't  is  he  ?  " 

"  I  held  her  hand,  and  ■with  my 
finger  did  lightly  touch  her  A\Tist ; 
and,  when  the  others  came  and  went, 
't  was  as  if  dogs  and  cats  had  fared 
in  and  out.  But  at  this  Ulrich's 
coming  her  pulse  did  leap,  and  her 
eyes  shine ;  and,  when  he  went,  she 
did  sink  back  and  sigh ;  and  't  was  to 
be  seen  the  sun  had  gone  out  of  the 
room  for  her.  Nay,  burgomaster,  look 
not  on  me  so  scared ;  no  witch  nor 
magician  I,  but  a  poor  girl  that  hath 
been  docile,  and  so  bettered  herself  by 
a  great  neglected  leech's  learning.  I 
tell  ye  all  this  hath  been  done  before, 
thousands  of  yea.TS  ere  we  were  born. 
Now  bide  thou  there  till  I  come  to 
thee,  and  prithee,  prithee,  spoil  not 
good  work  wi'  meddling " ;  so  she 
went  back,  and  asked  her  patient  for 
a  lock  of  her  hair. 

"  Take  it,"  said  she,  more  listlessly 
than  ever. 

"  Why,  't  is  a  lass  of  marble.    How 


long  do  you  count  to  be  like  that, 
mistress  ? " 

"  Till  I  am  in  my  grave,  sweet 
Peggy." 

"  Who  knows  ?  maybe  in  ten  min- 
utes you  Avill  be  altogether  as  hot." 

She  ran  into  the  shop,  but  speedily 
returned  to  the  mayor  and  said,  "  Good 
news.  He  fancies  her,  and  more  than 
a  little.  Now,  how  is  't  to  bo  ?  Will 
you  marry  your  child,  or  bury  her  ?  for 
there  is  no  third  way,  sith  shame  and 
love  they  do  rend  her  virgin  heart  to 
death." 

The  dignitary  decided  for  the  more 
cheerful  rite,  and  not  without  a  strug- 
gle; and,  with  its  marks  on  his  face 
he  accompanied  Margaret  to  his 
daughter.  But,  as  men  are  seldom  in 
a  hurry  to  drink  their  wormwood,  he 
stood  silent.  So  Doctor  Margaret 
said  cheerfully,  "  Mistress,  your  lock 
is  gone,  I  have  sold  it." 

"  And  who  was  so  mad  as  to  buy 
such  a  thing  1  "  inquired  the  young  la- 
dy, scornfully. 

"  0,  a  black-haired  laddie  wi'  white 
teeth.     They  call  him  Ulrich." 

The  pale  face  reddened  directly,  — 
brow  and  all. 

"  Says  he,  '  O  sweet  mistress,  give 
it  me."  I  had  told  them  all  wliose 
't  was.  '  Nay,'  said  I,  '  selling  is 
my  livelihood,  not  giving.'  So  he 
offered  me  this,  he  offered  me  that,  but 
naught  less  would  I  take  than  his  next 
quarter's  wages. 

"  Cruel ! "  murmured  the  girl,  scarce 
audibly. 

"  Why,  you  are  in  one  tale  with 
your  father.  Says  he  to  me,  when  I 
told  him,  '  O,  an  he  loves  her  hair  so 
well,  't  is  odd  but  he  loves  the  rest  of 
her.  Well,'  quoth  he,  '  't  is  an  honest 
lad  and  a'  shall  have  her,  gien  she  wiU 
but  leave  her  sulks  and  consent.'  So, 
what  say  ye,  mistress,  —  will  you  be 
married  to  Ulrich,  or  buried  in  the 
kirkyard  ?  " 

"  Father  !  father  !  " 

"  'T  is  so,  girl,  speak  thy  mind." 

"I  —  will  —  obey  —  my  fatlier  — 
in  all  things,"  stammered  the  poor 
girl,   trying    hard    to    maintain    the 


228 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


advantageous  position  in  which  Mar- 1 
fjarct  had  placed  her.  But  nature,  ; 
and  the  joy  and  surprise,  were  too 
strong  even  for  a  virgin's  bashful  cun-  j 
ning.  She  cast  an  eloquent  look  on  | 
them  both,  and  sank  at  her  father's  j 
knees,  and  begged  his  pardon,  with  \ 
many  sobs,  for  ha\-ing  doubted  his 
tenderness. 

He  raised  her  in  his  arms,  and  took 
her,  radiant  through  her  tears  with 
joy  and  returning  life  and  filial  love, 
to  his  breast ;  and  the  pair  passed  a 
truly  sacred  moment,  and  the  digni- 
tary was  as  happy  as  he  thought  to  be 
miserable ;  so  hard  it  is  for  mortals  to 
foresee.  And  they  looked  round  for 
Margaret,  but  she  had  stolen  away 
softly. 

The  young  girl  searched  the  house 
for  her. 

"  Where  is  she  hid  ?  Where  on 
earth  is  she  ?  " 

Where  was  she  1  why,  in  her  own 
house  dressing  meat  for  her  two  old 
children,  and  crying  bitterly  the  while 
at  the  living  picture  of  happiness  she 
had  just  created. 

"  Well-a-day,  the  odds  between  her 
lot  and  mine ;  well-a-day  !  " 

Next  time  she  met  the  dignitary,  he 
hemmed  and  hawed,  and  remarked 
what  a  pity  it  was  the  law  forbade  him 
to  pay  her  who  had  cured  his  daugh- 
ter. "  However,  when  all  is  done, 
't  was  not  art,  't  was  but  woman's 
wit." 

"  Naught  but  that,  burgomaster," 
said  Margaret,  bitterly.  "  Pay  the 
men  of  art  for  not  curing  her ;  all 
the  guerdon  1  seek,  that  cured  her,  is 
this  :  go  not  and  give  your  foul  linen 
away  from  me  by  way  of  thanks." 

"  Why  should  I  ?  "  inquired  he. 

"  Marry,  because  there  be  fools 
about  ye  will  tell  ye  she  that  hath 
wit  to  cure  dark  diseases  cannot 
have  wit  to  take  dirt  out  o'  rags ; 
so  pledge  me  your  faith." 

The  dignitary  promised  pompously, 
and  felt  all  the  patron. 

Something   must  be   done    to    fill 


"  to-morrow's  "  box.  She  hawked  he» 
initial  letters  and  her  iiluniiuatcd  vel- 
lums all  about  the  town.  Printing 
had  by  this  time  dealt  calligraj)hy  in 
black  and  white  a  terrible  blow  in 
Holland  and  Germany.  But  somo 
coi)ies  of  the  printed  books  were  usu- 
ally illuminated  and  lettered.  The 
printers  offered  Margaret  prices  for 
work  in  these  two  kinds. 

"  I  '11  think  on  't,"  said  she. 

She  took  down  her  diurnal  book, 
and  calculated  that  the  price  of  an 
liour's  work  on  those  arts  would  be 
about  one  fifth  what  she  got  for  an 
hour  at  the  tub  and  mangle.  "  I  'II 
starve  first,"  said  she;  "  what,  pay  a 
craft  and  a  mystery  five  times  less 
than  a  handicraft !  " 

Martin,  carrying  the  dry  clothes- 
basket,  got  treated,  and  drunk.  This 
time  he  babbled  her  whole  story.  The 
girls  got  hold  of  it  and  gibed  her  at 
the  fountain. 

All  she  had  gone  through  was 
light  to  her  compared  with  the  pins 
and  bodkins  her  own  sex  drove  into 
her  heart  whenever  she  came  neir 
the  merry  crew  with  her  pitcher,  and 
that  was  everj-  day.  Each  sex  has 
its  form  of  cruelty  ;  man's  is  more 
brutal  and  terrible  ;  but  shallow  wo- 
men, that  have  neither  read  nor  suf- 
I'cred,  have  an  unmuscular  barbarity 
of  their  own  (where  no  feeling  of  sex 
steps  in  to  overpower  it).  This  defect, 
intellectual,  perhaps,  rather  than  mor- 
al, has  been  mitigated  in  our  day  by 
books,  especially  by  able  works  of  fic- 
tion ;  for  there  are  two  roads  to  that 
highest  effort  of  intelligence.  Pity  : 
Experience  of  sorrows,  and  Imagina- 
tion, by  which  alone  we  realize  the 
grief  we  never  felt.  In  the  fifteenth 
century  girls  with  pitchers  had  but 
one  Experience  ;  and  at  sixteen  years 
of  age  or  so,  that  road  had  scarce 
been  trodden.  These  girls  persisted 
that  Margaret  was  deserted  by  her 
lover.  And  to  be  deserted  was  a 
crime.  [They  had  not  been  deserted 
yet.]  Not  a  word  against  the  Gerard 
they  had  created  out  of  their  own 
heads.    For  his  imaginary  crime  they 


THE   CLOISTER   AND    THE    HEARTH, 


229 


fell  foul  of  the  supposed  victim. 
Sometimes  they  affronted  her  to  her 
face.  Oftener  they  talked  at  her  back- 
wards and  forwards  with  a  subtle  skill 
and  perseverance  which,  "  O  that 
they  had  bestowed  on  the  arts,"  as 
poor  Ague-Cheek  says. 

Now  Margaret  was  brave  and  a 
coward ;  brave  to  battle  difficulties 
and  ill  fortune,  brave  to  shed  her 
own  blood  for  those  she  loved.  For- 
titude she  had.  But  she  had  no  true 
fighting  courage.  She  was  a  power- 
ful young  woman,  rather  tall,  full, 
and  sym^metrical ;  yet,  had  one  of  those 
slips  of  girls  slapped  her  face,  the  poor 
fool's  hands  would  have  dropped  pow- 
erless, or  gone  to  her  own  eyes  instead 
of  her  adversary's.  Nor  was  she 
even  a  match  for  so  many  tongues ; 
and,  besides,  what  could  she  say  1 
She  knew  nothing  of  these  girls,  ex- 
cept that  somehow  they  had  found  out 
her  sorrows,  and  hated  her ;  only  she 
thought  to  herself  they  must  be  very 
happy,  or  they  would  not  be  so  hard 
on  her. 

So  she  took  their  taunts  in  silence  ; 
and  all  her  struggle  was,  not  to  let 
them  see  their  power  to  make  her 
writhe  within. 

Here  came  in  her  fortitude ;  and 
she  received  their  blows  with  well- 
feigned,  icy  hauteur.  They  slapped 
a  statue. 

But  one  day,  when  her  spirits  were 
weak,  as  happens  at  times  to  females 
in  her  condition,  a  dozen  assailants 
followed  suit  so  admirably  that  her 
whole  sex  seemed  to  the  dispirited 
one  to  be  against  her,  and  she  lost 
heart,  and  the  tears  began  to  run 
silently  at  each  fresh  stab. 

On  this  their  triumph  knew  no 
bounds,  and  they  followed  her  half- 
way home,  casting  barbed  speeches. 

After  that  exposure  of  weakness 
the  statue  could  be  assumed  no  more. 
So  then  she  would  stand  timidly  aloof 
out  of  tongue-shot,  till  her  young  ty- 
rants' pitchers  were  all  filled,  and  they 
gone,  and  then  creep  up  with  hers. 
And  one  day  she  waited  so  long  that 
the  font  had  ceased  to  flow.     So  the  / 


next  day  she  was  obliged  to  face  the 
phalanx,  or  her  house  go  dry.  She 
drew  near  slowly,  but  with  the  less 
tremor  that  she  saw  a  man  at  the 
well,  talking  to  them.  He  would 
distract  their  attention,  and,  besides, 
they  would  keep  their  foul  tongues 
quiet,  if  only  to  blind  the  male  to 
their  real  character.  This  conjecture, 
though  shrewd,  was  erroneous.  They 
could  not  all  flirt  with  that  one  man  ; 
so  the  outsiders  indemnified  them- 
selves by  talking  at  her  the  very  mo- 
ment she  came  up. 

"Any  news  from  foreign  parts, 
Jacqueline  ? " 

"  None  for  me,  Martha.  My  lad 
goes  no  farther  from  me  than  the 
town  wall." 

"  I  can't  say  as  much,"  says  a  third. 

"  But  if  he  goes  t'  Italy  I  have  got 
another  to  take  the  fool's  place." 

"  He  '11  not  go  thither,  lass.  They 
go  not  so  far  till  they  are  sick  of  us 
that  bide  in  Holland.' 

Surprise  and  indignation,  and  the 
presence  of  a  man,  gave  Margaret  a 
moment's  fighting  courage.  "  O,  flout 
me  not  and  show  your  ill-nature  be- 
fore the  very  soldier.  In  Heaven's 
name,  what  ill  did  I  ever  to  ye,  what 
harsh  word  cast  back,  for  all  you  have 
flung  on  me,  a  desolate  stranger  in 
your  cruel  town,  that  ye  flout  me  for 
my  bereavement,  and  my  poor  lad's 
most  unwilling  banishment  ?  Hearts 
of  flesh  would  surely  pity  us  both  for 
that  ye  cast  in  my  teeth  these  many 
days,  ye  brows  of  brass,  ye  bosoms 
of  stone  ! " 

They  stared  at  this  novelty,  resist- 
ance ;  and,  ere  they  could  recover  and 
make  mincemeat  of  her,  she  put  her 
pitcher  quietly  dowTi,  and  threw  her 
coarse  apron  over  her  head,  and  stood 
there  grieving,  her  short-lived  spirit 
oozing  fast.  "  Hallo  !  "  cried  the 
soldier,  "  why,  what  is  your  ill  ? " 
She  made  no  reply.  But  a  little  girl, 
who  had  long  secretly  hated  the  big 
ones,  squeaked  out :  "  They  did  flout 
her,  they  are  aye  flouting  her;  she 
may  not  come  nigh  the  fountain  for 
fear  o'  them,  and  'ti.'^  a  black  shame." 


230 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


"  Who  spoke  to  her  1  Not  I  for 
one." 

"  Nor  I.  I  would  not  bemcan  my- 
self so  far." 

The  man  lauphed  heartily  at  this 
display  of  dignity.  "  Come,  wife," 
said  he,  "  never  lower  thy  flaf;  to 
such  light  skirmishers  as  these.  Hast 
a  tongue  i'  thy  head  as  well  as  they." 

"  Alack,  good  soldier,  I  was  not 
bred  to  bandy  foul  terms." 

"  Well,  but  hast  a  better  arm  than 
these.  Why  not  take  'em  by  twos 
across  thy  knee,  and  skelp  'em  till 
they  cry  Meculpee  1 " 

"  Nay,  I  would  not  hurt  their 
bodies  for  all  their  cruel  hearts." 

"  Then  ye  must  e'en  laugh  at  them, 
wife.  What !  a  woman  grown,  and 
not  see  why  mesdames  give  tongue  1 
You  arc  a  buxom  wife.  They  are  a 
bundle  of  thread-papers.  You  arc 
fjiir  and  fresh :  they  have  all  the 
Dutch  rim  under  their  bright  eyes, 
that  comes  of  dwelling  in  eternal 
swamps.  There  lies  your  crime. 
Come,  gi'e  me  thy  pitcher,  and,  if 
they  flout  me,  shalt  see  me  scrub  'em 
all  wi'  my  beard,  till  they  squeak  Ho- 
ly Mother."  The  pitcher  was  soon 
filled,  and  the  soldier  put  it  in  Mar- 
garet's hand.  She  murmured,  "Thank 
you  kindly,  brave  soldier." 

He  patted  her  on  the  shoulder. 
"  Come,  courage,  brave  wife  ;  the 
divell  is  dead  ! "  She  let  the  heavy 
pitcher  fall  on  his  foot  directly.  He 
cursed  horribly,  and  hopped  in  a 
circle,  saying,  "  No,  the  Thief's  alive, 
and  has  "broken  my  great  toe." 

The  apron  came  down,  and  there 
was  a  lovely  face  all  flushed  with 
emotion,  and  tvvo  beaming  eyes  in 
front  of  him,  and  two  hands  held  out 
clasped. 

"  Nay,  nay,  't  is  naught,"  said  he, 
good-humoredly,  mistaking. 

"  Denys  ? " 

"  Well  f  —  but  —  hallo  !  How 
know  you  my  name  is  —  " 

"  Denys  of  Burgundy  ! " 

"  Why,  ods-bodikins  !  I  know  you 
not,  and  you  know  me." 

"  By  Gerard's  letter.     Crose-bow  ! 


beard  !  handsome  !  The  divell  it 
dead." 

"  Sword  of  Goliah  !  this  must  be 
she.  Red  hair,  violet  eyes,  lovely 
face.  But  I  took  ye  for  a  married 
wife,  seeing  ye  —  " 

"  Tell  me  my  name,"  said  she, 
quickly. 

"  Margaret  Brandt." 

"  Gerard  ?  Where  is  he  ?  Is  he 
in  life?  Is  he  well  ?  Is  he  coming  ? 
Is  he  come  ?  Why  is  he  not  here  ? 
Where  have  ye  left  him  ?  O  tell  me ! 
prithee,  prithee,  prithee  tell  me  !  " 

"  Ay,  ay,  but  not  here.  O,  ye  are 
all  curiosity  now,  mesdames,  eh  f 
Lass,  I  have  been  three  months  afoot 
travelling  all  Holland  to  find  ye,  and 
here  you  are.  O,  be  joyful !  "  and  he 
flung  his  cap  in  the  air,  and,  seizing 
both  her  hands,  kissed  them  ardent- 
Iv.  "  Ay,  my  pretty  she-comrade, 
i  have  found  thee  at  last.  I  knew  I 
should.  Shalt  be  flouted  no  more. 
I  '11  twist  your  necks  at  the  first 
word,  ye  little  harlots.  And  I 
have  got  fifteen  gold  angels  left  for 
thee,  and  our  Gerard  will  soon  be 
here.  Shalt  wet  thy  purple  eyes  no 
more." 

But  the  fair  eyes  were  wet  even 
now,  looking  kindly  and  gratefully 
at  the  friend  that  had  dropped  among 
her  foes  as  if  from  heaven.  Gerard's 
comrade.  "  Prithee,  come  home  with 
me,  good,  kind  Denys.  I  cannot 
speak  of  him  before  these."  They 
went  off  together,  followed  by  a  cho- 
rus. "  She  has  gotten  a  man.  She 
has  gotten  a  man  at  last.  Hoo  1  hoc  ! 
hoo ! " 

Margaret  quickened  her  steps  ;  but 
Denys  took  down  his  cross-bow,  and 
pretended  to  shoot  them  all  dead : 
they  fled  quadrivious,  shrieking. 


CHAPTER  LU. 

The  reader  already  knows  how 
much  these  two  had  to  tell  one  an- 
other. It  was  a  sweet  yet  bitter  day 
for  Margaret,  since  it  brought  her  a 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


231 


trne  friend,  and  ill  news ;  for  now 

first  she  learned  that  Gerard  was  all 
alone  in  that  strange  land.  She 
could  not  think  with  Denys  that  he 
would  come  home  ;  indeed,  he  would 
have  arrived  before  this. 

Denys  was  a  balm.  He  called  her 
his  she-comrade,  and  was  always 
cheering  her  up  with  his  formula  and 
hilarities,  and  she  petted  him  and 
made  much  of  him,  and  feebly  hec- 
tored it  over  him  as  well  as  over 
Martin,  and  would  not  let  him  eat  a 
single  meal  out  of  her  house,  and 
forbade  him  to  use  naughty  words. 
"  It  spoils  you,  Denys.  Good  lack 
to  hear  such  ugly  words  come  forth 
so  comely  a  head  ;  forbear,  or  I  shall 
he  angry ;  so  be  civil."  Whereupon 
Denys  was  upon  his  good  behavior, 
and  ludicrous  the  struggle  between 
his  native  politeness  and  his  acquired 
ruffianism.  And,  as  it  never  rains 
but  it  pours,  other  persons  now 
solicited  Margaret's  friendship.  She 
had  written  to  Margaret  Van  Eyck 
a  humble  letter,  telling  her  she  knew 
she  was  no  longer  the  favorite  she 
had  been,  and  would  keep  her  dis- 
tance; but  could  not  forget  her  bene- 
factress's past  kindness.  She  then 
told  her  briefly  how  many  ways  she 
had  battled  for  a  living,  and,  in  con- 
clusion, begged  earnestly  that  her 
residence  might  not  be  betrayed, 
"  least  of  all  to  his  people.  I  do  hate 
them,  they  drove  him  from  me.  And, 
even  when  he  was  gone,  their  hearts 
turned  not  to  me,  as  they  would  an' 
if  they  had  repented  their  cruelty  to 
him." 

The  Van  Eyck  was  perplexed.  At 
last  she  made  a  confidante  of  Richt. 
The  secret  ran  through  Richt,  as 
through  a  cylinder,  to  Catherine. 

"  Ay,  and  is  she  turned  that  bitter 
against  us  1 "  said  that  good  woman. 
"  She  stole  our  son  from  us,  and  now 
she  ffates  us  for  not  nmning  into  her 
arms.  Nathelcss  it  is  a  blessing  she  is 
alive  and  no  farther  away  than  Rot- 
terdam." 

And  so  matters  remained  for  a  while, 
and  so  they  would  have  continued,  | 


but  for  an  event  which  brought  about 
a  meeting  between  Margaret  and  the 
family  of  Gerard. 

One  day  a  letter  came  to  Sevenber- 
gen  from  Italy  for  Margaret  Brandt. 
The  stranger  who  brought  it,  finding 
she  had  gone  away,  left  it  with  the 
burgomaster,  as  the  proper  person  to 
whom  to  intrust  it.  Ghysbrecht  took 
it,  and,  after  much  deliberation,  went 
off  with  it  himself  to  Rotterdam  and 
placed  it  in  Margaret's  hands.  Her 
surprise  may  be  imagined.  Ghys- 
brecht —  he  who  had  sent  his  emissa- 
ries and  let  loose  his  bloodhounds  to 
captiire  Gerard  —  now  to  bring  her 
a  letter  from  him  !  However,  she 
thought  not  then  of  the  motive  of  the 
deed,  but  was  soon  all  absorbed  in 
the  missive. 

It  was  a  long,  long  letter ;  a  long 
and  eventful  story.  But  of  that  pres- 
ently. 

The  next  day,  by  Margaret's  desire, 
Denys  was  journeying  towards  Ter- 
gou.  He  bore  a  message  from  her  to 
the  family  of  Gerard.  She  would  see 
them,  would  give  them  news  of  their 
long-absent  son.  At  how  great  a 
strain  upon  her  feelings  it  were  vain 
to  tell ;  but  her  love  for  Gerard  pre- 
vailed. 

And  this  was  the  ^vritten  message, 
in  the  words  of  Gerard,  which  De- 
nys gave  to  the  assembled  family. 

" '  And,  sweetheart,  an'  if  these 
lines  should  travel  safe  to  thee,  make 
thou  trial  of  my  people's  hearts  withal. 
Maybe  they  are  somewhat  turned  to- 
wards me,  being  far  away.  If  't  is  so 
they  will  show  it  to  thee,  since  now 
to  me  they  may  not,  Read,  then, 
this  letter  !  But  I  do  strictly  forbid 
thee  to  let  it  from  thy  hand  ;  and  if 
they  still  hold  aloof  from  thee,  why, 
then  say  naught,  but  let  them  think 
me  dead.  Obey  me  in  this;  for,  if 
thou  dost  disrespect  my  judgment 
and  my  will  in  this,  thou  lovest  me 
not.' " 

There  was  a  silence,  and  Gerard's 
words,  copied  by  Margaret,  were  hand- 
ed round  and  inspected. 


232 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEAHTH. 


"  Well,"  paid  Catherine,  "  that  is 
anotlier  matter.  I'ut  iiiethinks  'tis 
for  her  to  eome  to  us,  not  wc  to  her." 

"  Alas,  mother !  what  odds  docs 
that  make  1 " 

"  Mueh,"  said  Eli.  "  Tell  her  wc 
are  over  many  to  come  to  her,  and 
bid  her  hither,  the  sooner  the  better." 

When  Denys  was  gone,  Eli  owned 
it  was  a  bitter  pill  to  him.  "  When 
that  lass  shall  cross  my  threshold,  all 
the  mischief  and  misery  she  liatli 
made  here  will  seem  to  come  in 
adoors  in  one  heap.  But  what  could 
I  do,  wife  y  We  miist  hear  the  news 
of  (ierard.  I  saw  that  in  thine  eyes, 
and  felt  it  in  my  own  heart.  And 
she  is  backed  by  our  undutiful  but 
still  beloved  son,  and  so  is  she  strong- 
er than  we,  and  brings  our  noses  down 
to  the  grindstone,  the  sly,  cruel  jade. 
IJut  never  heed.  We  will  hear  the 
letter  ;  and  then  let  her  go  unblessed, 
as  she  came  unwelcome." 

"  Make  your  mind  easy,"  said  Cath- 
erine. "  She  will  not  come  at  all." 
And  a  tone  of  regret  was  visible. 

Shortly  after  llichart,  who  had 
been  hourly  expected,  arrived  from 
Amsterdam,  grave  and  dignified  in  his 
burgher's  robe  and  gold  chain,  ruff, 
and  furred  cap,  and  was  received,  not 
with  affection  only,  but  respect ;  for 
he  had  risen  a  step  higher  than  his 
parents,  and  such  steps  were  marked 
in  mediajval  society  almost  as  visibly 
as  those  in  their  staircases. 

Admitted  in  due  course  to  the  fam- 
ily council,  he  showed  plainly,  though 
not  discourteously,  that  his  pride 
was  deeply  wounded  by  their  hav- 
ing deigned  to  treat  with  Margaret 
Brandt.  "  I  see  the  temptation," 
said  he.  "  But  which  of  us  hath  not 
at  times  to  wish  one  way  and  do  an- 
other ?  " 

This  threw  a  considerable  chill  over 
ilie  old  ])Cople.  So  little  Kate  put 
in  a  word.  "  Vex  not  thyself,  dear 
Kichart.  Mother  says  she  will  not 
come." 

"  All  the  better,  sweetheart.  I  fear 
me,  if  slie  do,  I  shall  hie  me  back  to 
Amsterdam." 


Here  Denys  popped  his  head  in  at 
the  door,  and  said,  "  She  will  be  hero 
at  three  on  the  great  dial." 

They  all  looked  at  one  another  in 
silence. 


CHAPTER   LHI. 

"  Nay,  llichart,"  said  Catherine,  at 
last,  "  for  Heaven's  sake  let  not  this 
one  sorry  wench  set  us  all  by  the  ears ! 
hath  she  not  made  ill  blood  enough 
already  ?  " 

"  In  very  deed  she  hath.  Fear  me 
not,  good  mother.  Let  her  como 
and  read  the  letter  of  the  poor  boy 
she  hath  b}-  devilish  arts  bewitched, 
and  then  let  her  go.  Give  mc  your 
words  to  show  her  no  countenance 
beyond  decent  and  constrained  civil- 
ity ;  less  we  may  not,  being  in  our 
own  house  ;  and  I  will  say  no  more." 
On  this  understanding  they  awaited 
the  foe.  She,  for  her  part,  prepared 
for  the  interview  in  a  sjjirit  little  less 
hostile. 

When  Denys  brought  word  they 
would  not  come  to  her,  but  would  re- 
ceive her,  her  lip  curled,  and  she  bade 
him  observe  how  in  them  every  feel- 
ing, however  small,  was  larger  than 
the  love  for  Gerard.  "  Well,"  said 
she,  "  I  have  not  that  excuse  ;  so  why 
mimic  the  petty  burgher's  pride,  the 
pride  of  all  unlettered  folk.  I  will 
go  to  them  for  Gerard's  sake.  O, 
how  I  loathe  them  !  " 

Margaret  made  her  toilet  in  the 
same  spirit  that  a  knight  of  her  day 
dressed  for  battle  —  he  to  parry  blows 
and  she  to  parry  glances  —  glances  of 
contempt  at  her  poverty,  or  of  irony 
at  her  extravagance.  Her  kirtle  was 
of  English  cloth,  dark  blue,  and  her 
farthingale  and  hose  of  the  same  ma- 
terial, but  a  glossy  roan,  or  claret 
color.  Not  an  inch  of  pretentious 
fur  about  her,  but  plain  snow j  linen 
wristbands,  and  curiously  plaited  linen 
from  the  bosom  of  the  kirtle  up  to  the 
commencement  of  the  throat ;  it  did 
not  encircle  her  throat,  but  framed  it, 
being  square,  not  round.     Her  front 


THE    CLOISTER    AND    THE   HEARTH. 


233 


hair  still  peeped  in  two  waves  much 
after  the  fashion  which  Maiy,  Queen 
of  Scots,  revived  a  century  later ;  but 
instead  of  the  silver  net,  which  would 
have  ill  become  her  present  condition, 
the  rest  of  her  head  was  covered  with 
a  very  small  tight-fittinjij  hood  of  dark 
blue  cloth,  hemmed  with  silver.  Her 
shoes  were  red ;  but  the  roan  petti- 
coat and  hose  prepared  the  spectator's 
mind  for  the  shock,  and  they  set  off 
the  arched  instep  and  shapely  foot. 

Beauty  knew  its  business  then  as 
now. 

And  with  all  this  she  kept  her 
enemies  waiting,  though  it  was  three 
by  the  dial. 

At  last  she  started,  attended  by  her 
he -comrade.  And  when  they  were 
half-way,  she  stopped  and  said 
thoughtfully,  "  Denys  "?  " 

"  Well,  she-general  1 " 

"  I  must  go  home  "  (piteously). 

"  What,  have  ye  left  somewhat  be- 
hind f  " 

"Ay." 

"What?" 

"  My  courage.     Oh !  oh  !  oh  !  " 

"  Nay,  nay,  be  brave,  she-general. 
I  shall  be  with  you." 

"Ay,  but  wilt  keep  close  to  me 
when  I  be  there  1 " 

Denys  promised,  and  she  resumed 
her  march,  but  gingerly. 

Meanwhile  they  were  all  assembled, 
and  waiting  her  with  a  strange  mix- 
ture of  feelings. 

Mortification,  curiosity,  panting  af- 
fection, aversion  to  her  who  came  to 
gratify  those  feelings,  yet  another  cu- 
riosity to  see  what  she  was  like,  and 
what  there  was  in  her  to  bewitch  Ge- 
rard, and  make  so  much  mischief. 

At  last  Denys  came  alone,  and 
whispered,  "  The  she-comrade  is  with- 
out." 

"  Fetch  her  in,"  said  Eli.  "  Now 
whist,  all  of  ye.  None  speak  to  her 
but  I." 

They  all  turned  their  eyes  to  the 
door  in  dead  silence. 

A  little  muttering-  was  heard  out- 
side, Denys's  rough  organ,  and  a 
woman's  soft  and  mellow  voice. 


Presently  that  stopped  ;  and  then 
the  door  opened  slowly,  and  Margaret 
Brandt,  dressed  as  I  have  described, 
and  somewhat  pale,  but  calm  and 
lovely,  stood  on  the  threshold,  looking 
straight  before  her. 

They  all  rose  but  Kate,  and  re- 
mained mute  and  staring. 

"Be  seated,  mistress,"  said  Eli, 
gravely,  and  motioned  to  a  seat  that 
had  been  set  apart  for  her. 

She  inclined  her  head,  and  crossed 
the  apartment ;  and  in  so  doing  her 
condition  was  very  visible,  not  only  in 
her  shape,  but  in  her  languor. 

Cornelis  and  Sybrandt  hated  her 
for  it.  Riehart  thought  it  spoiled  her 
beauty. 

It  softened  tlie  women  somewhat. 

She  took  her  letter  out  of  her  bosom, 
and  kissed  it  as  if  she  had  been  alone ; 
then  disposed  herself  to  read  it  ^vith 
the  air  of  one  who  knew  she  was  there 
for  that  single  purpose. 

But,  as  she  began,  she  noticed  they 
had  seated  her  all  by  herself  like  a 
leper.  She  looked  at  Denys,  and,  put- 
ting her  hand  down  by  her  side,  made 
him  a  swift  furtive  motion  to  come  by 
her. 

He  went  with  an  obedient  start  as 
if  she  had  cried,  "  March  !  "  and  stood 
at  her  shoulder  like  a  sentinel ;  but 
this  zealous  manner  of  doing  it  re- 
vealed to  the  company  that  he  had 
been  ordered  thither,  and  at  that  she 
colored.  And  now  she  began  to  read 
her  Gerard,  their  Gerard,  to  their  eager 
ears,  in  a  mellow,  but  clear  voice,  so 
soft,  so  earnest,  so  thrilling,  her  very 
soul  seemed  to  cling  about  each  pre- 
cious sound.  It  was  a  voice  as  of 
a  woman's  bosom  set  speaking  by 
Heaven  itself. 

"  1  do  nothing  doubt,  my  Margaret, 
that,  long  ere  this  shall  meet  thy 
beloved  eyes,  Denys,  my  most  dear 
friend,  will  have  sought  thee  out,  and 
told  thee  the  manner  of  our  unlooked- 
for  and  most  tearful  parting.  There- 
fore I  will  e'en  begin  at  that  most 
doleful  day.  What  befell  him  after, 
poor  faithful  soul,  fain,  fain  would  I 
hear,  but  may  not.     But  I  ©ray  for 


234 


TIIK    CLOISTKK    AND    Till;    IIKAIIIM. 


him  (lay  and  night  next  after  thee, 
dearest.  Friend  more  stanch  and 
lovin;^  had  not  David  in  Jonathan 
than  I  in  him.  Be  good  to  him  tor 
pour  Gerard's  sake." 

At  these  words,  which  came  quite 
unex[K'ctedly  to  him,  Denys  leaned 
his  head  on  Margaret's  high  chair, 
and  groaned  aloud. 

She  turned  <}uiekly  as  she  sat,  and 
found  his  hand,  and  pressed  it. 

And  .so  the  sweetheart  and  the  friend 
held  hands  while  the  sweetheart  read. 

"  I  went  forward  all  dizzied,  like 
one  in  an  ill  dream  ;  and  presently  a 
gentleman  came  up  with  his  servants, 
all  on  horsehack,  and  had  like  to  have 
rill  o'er  me.  And  he  drew  rein  at  the 
brow  of  the  hill,  and  sent  his  armed 
men  hack  to  rob  me.  They  robbed 
me  civilly  enough,  and  took  my  purse 
and  the  last  copper,  and  rid  gaylv 
nway.  I  wandered  stupid  on,  a  friend- 
less pauper." 

There  was  a  general  sigh,  followed 
by  an  oath  from  Denys. 

"  Presently  a  strange  dimness  came 
o'er  me,  I  lay  down  to  sleep  on  the 
snow.  'T  was  ill  done,  and  with  score 
of  wolves  hard  by.  Had  I  loved  thee 
as  thou  dost  deserve,  I  had  shown 
more  manhood.  But,  O  sweet  love, 
the  drowsiness  that  did  crawl  o'er  me 
desolate,  and  benumbed  me,  was  more 
than  nature.  And  so  I  slept :  and  but 
that  God  was  better  to  us  than  I  to 
thee  or  to  myself,  from  that  sleep  I 
ne'er  had  waked  ;  so  all  do  say.  I  had 
slept  an  hour  or  two,  as  I  suppose,  but 
no  more,  when  a  hand  did  shake  me 
rudely.  I  awoke  to  my  troubles.  And 
there  stood  a  ser\-ant-girl  in  her  holi- 
day suit.  'Are  ye  mad,'  quoth  she, 
in  seeming  choler,  '  to  sleep  in  snow, 
and  nnder  wolves'  noscn  ?  Art  weary 
o'  life,  and  not  long  weaned  ?  Come, 
now,'  said  she,  more  kindly,  '  get  up 
like  a  good  lad';  so  I  did  rise  up. 
'  Are  ye  rich  or  are  ye  poor?'  But 
I  stared  a.%  her  as  one  amazed.  '  Why, 
'tis  easy  of  reply,'  quoth  she.  'Are 
ye  rich  or  are  ye  poor  ? '  Then  I  gave 
a  great,  loud  cry ;  that  she  did  start 
back.     'Am  I  rich  or  am  I  poor? 


Had  ye  asked  me  an  hour  agonc,  I 
had  said  I  am  rich.  Hut  now  1  am 
so  poor  as  sure  earth  beareth  on  her 
lK)som  none  poorer.  An  hour  agono 
I  was  rich  in  a  friend,  rich  in  money, 
rich  in  hone  and  spirits  of  youth  ;  but 
now  the  Bastard  of  Burgundy  hath 
Uiken  my  friend  and  another  gentle- 
man my  nurse ;  and  I  can  neither 
go  forward  to  Rome  nor  back  to  her 
1  left  in  Holland.  I  am  poorest  of 
the  poor.'  '  Alack ! '  said  the  wench. 
'  Natheless,  an  ye  had  Ixx-n  rich  ye 
might  ha'  lain  down  again  in  the  snow 
for  any  use  I  had  for  ye  ;  and  then  I 
trow  ye  had  soon  fared  out  o'  this 
world  as  bare  as  ye  came  into  't.  But, 
being  i)oor,  you  are  our  man  ;  so  como 
wi'  me.'  '1  hen  I  went  because  she 
bade  me,  and  because  I  recketl  not 
now  whither  I  went.  And  she  took 
me  to  a  fine  house  hard  by,  and  into 
a  noble  dining-hall  hung  with  black  ; 
and  there  was  set  a  table  with  many 
dishes,  and  but  one  plate  and  one 
chair.  '  Fall  to  ! '  said  she,  in  a  whis- 
per. '  What,  alone  1 '  said  I.  '  Alone  ? 
And  which  of  us,  think  ye,  would 
eat  out  of  the  same  dish  with  ye  1 
Are  we  robljcrs  o'  the  dead  ? '  Then 
she  spcered  where  I  was  bom.  '  At 
Tergou,'  said  I.  Says  she :  '  And, 
when  a  gentleman  dies  in  that  coun- 
try, serve  they  not  the  dead  man's 
dinner  up  as  usual,  till  he  be  in  the 
ground,  and  set  some  poor  man  down 
to  it  ? '  I  told  her  nay.  '  She  blushed 
for  us  then.  Here  they  were  bet- 
ter Christians.'  So  I  behooved  to 
sit  down.  But  small  was  my  heart 
for  meat.  Then  this  kind  lass  sat 
by  me  and  poured  me  out  wine ; 
and,  tasting  it,  it  cut  me  to  the 
heart  Denys  was  not  there  to  drink 
with  me.  He  doth  so  love  good  wine, 
and  women  good,  bad,  or  indiffer- 
ent. The  rich,  strong  ^vinc  curled 
round  my  sick  heart ;  and  that  day 
first  I  did  seem  to  glimpse  why  folk 
in  trouble  run  to  drink  so.  She  made 
me  eat  of  every  dish.  '  'T  was  un- 
lucky to  pass  one.  Naught  was  here 
but  her  master's  daili/  dinner.'  '  He 
had   a  good  stomach,  then,'  said  L 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


235 


*Ay,  lad,  and  a  good  heart.  Least- 
ways, so  we  all  say  now  he  is  dead ; 
but,  being  alive,  no  word  on 't  e'er 
heard  I.'  So  I  did  eat  as  a  bird,  nib- 
bling of  every  dish.  And  she,  hearing 
me  sigh,  and  seeing  me  like  to  choke 
at  the  food,  took  pity  and  bade  me  be 
of  good  cheer.  I  should  sup  and  lie 
there  that  night.  And  she  went  to 
the  hind,  and  he  gave  me  a  right  good 
bed ;  and  I  told  him  all,  and  asked 
hun  would  the  law  give  me  back  my 
purse.  '  Law ! '  quoth  he,  — '  law, 
there  was  none  for  the  poor  in  Bur- 
gundy. Why,  't  was  the  cousin  of 
the  Lady  of  the  Manor,  he  that  had 
robbed  me.  He  knew  the  wild  spark. 
The  matter  must  be  judged  before  the 
lady ;  and  she  was  quite  young,  and 
far  more  like  to  hang  me  for  slander- 
ing her  cousin,  and  a  gentleman,  and 
a  handsome  man,  than  to  make  him 
give  me  back  my  own.  Inside  the 
liberties  of  a  town  a  poor  man  might 
now  and  then  see  the  face  of  justice  ; 
but  out  among  the  grand  seigneurs 
and  dames, —  never.'  So  I  said, 
'  I  '11  sit  down  robbed  rather  than 
seek  justice  and  find  gallows.'  They 
were  all  most  kind  to  me  next  day ; 
and  the  girl  proffered  me  money  from 
her  small  wage  to  help  me  towards 
the  Rhine." 

"  0,  then  he  is  coming  home !  he  is 
coming  home !  "  shouted  Denys,  in- 
terrupting the  reader.  She  shook  her 
head  gently  at  him,  by  way  of  re- 
proof. 

"I  beg  pardon,  all  the  company," 
said  he,  stiffly. 

"  'T  was  a  sore  temptation ;  but, 
being  a  sen'ant,  my  stomach  rose 
against  it.  '  Nay,  nay,'  said  I.  She 
told  me  I  was  %vrong.  '  'T  was  pride 
out  o'  place;  poor  folk  should  help 
one  another;  or  who  on  earth 
would  ? '  I  said  if  I  could  do  aught 
in  return  't  were  well ;  but  for  a  free 
gift,  nay :  I  was  overmuch  beholden 
already.  Should  I  write  a  letter  for 
her  1     '  Nay,  he  is  in  the  house   at 

E resent,'  said  she.      '  Should  I  draw 
er  picture,  and  so  earn  my  money  ? ' 
'  What,  can  yc  1 '   said  she.     I  told 


her  I  could  try ;  and  her  habit  would 
well  become  a  picture.  So  she  was 
agog  to  be  limned  and  give  it  her  lad. 
And  I  set  her  to  stand  in  a  good  light, 
and  soon  made  sketches  two,  whereof 
I  send  thee  one,  colored  at  odd  hours. 
The  other  I  did  most  hastily,  and. 
with  little  conscience,  daub,  for  which 
may  Heaven  forgive  me ;  but  time  was 
short.  They,  poor  things,  knew  no 
better,  and  were  most  proud  and  joy- 
ous ;  and,  both  kissing  me  after  their 
country  fashion, — 't  was  the  hind  that 
was  her  sweetheart,  —  they  did  bid  me 
God-speed ;  and  I  towards  Rhine." 

Margaret  paused  here,  and  gave 
Denys  the  colored  dra^ving  to  hand 
round.  It  was  eagerly  examined  by 
the  females  on  account  of  the  costume, 
which  differed  in  some  respects  from 
that  of  a  Dutch  domestic;  the  hair 
was  in  a  tight  linen  bag,  a  yellow 
half-kerchief  crossed  her  head  from 
ear  to  ear,  but  threw  out  a  rectangu- 
lar point  that  descended  the  centre  of 
her  forehead,  and  it  met  in  two  more 
points  over  her  bosom.  She  wore  a 
red  kirtle  vrith  long  sleeves,  kilted 
very  high  im  front,  and  showing  a 
green  farthingale  and  a  great  red 
leather  purse  hanging  down  over  it; 
red  stockings,  yellow  leathern  shoes, 
ahead  of  her  age ;  for  they  were  low- 
quartered  and  square-toed,  secured 
by  a  strap  buckling  over  the  instep, 
which  was  not  uncommon,  and  was 
perhaps  the  rude  germ  of  the  dia- 
mond buckle  to  come. 

Margaret  continued :  — 

"  But,  O,  how  I  missed  my  Denys 
at  every  step !  often  I  sat  down  on  the 
road  and  groaned.  And  in  the  after- 
noon it  chanced  that  I  did  so  set  me 
down  where  two  roads  met,  and  with 
hea^y  head  in  hand,  and  heavy  heart, 
did  think  of  thee,  my  poor  sweetheart, 
and  of  my  lost  friend,  and  of  the  lit- 
tle house  at  Tergou,  where  they  all 
loved  me  once ;  though  now  it  is 
turned  to  hate." 

Catherine.  "Alas!  that  he  will 
think  so." 

Eli.  '•  Whist,  wife ! " 

"And  I  did  sigh  loud,  and  often. 


236 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


And  me  sighing  so,  one  came  carol- 
ling lilic  a  bird  adown  t'other  road. 
'  Ay,  chirp  and  chirp,'  cried  I,  bittcrlj'. 
'  Thou  hast  not  lost  sweetheart,  and 
friend,  thy  father's  hearth,  thy  moth- 
er's smile,  and  every  penny  in  the 
world.'  And  at  last  he  did  so  carol 
and  carol,  I  jumped  up  in  ire  to  get 
away  from  his  most  jarring  mirth. 
But,  ere  I  fled  from  it,  I  looked  down 
the]>ath  to  see  what  would  make  a  man 
so  light-licartcd  in  this  weary  world ; 
and  io !  the  songster  was  a  hump- 
backed cripple,  ^vith  a  bloody  bandage 
o'er  his  eye,  and  both  legs  gone  at  the 
knee." 

"  He !  he !  he !  he  !  he ! "  went  Sy- 
brandt,  laughing  and  cackling. 

Margaret's  eyes  flashed ;  she  began 
to  fold  the  letter  up. 

"Nay,  lass,"  said  Eli,  "heed  him 
not !  Thou  unmannerly  cur,  offer 't 
but  again  and  I  put  thee  to  the  door." 

"  Why,  what  was  there  to  gibe  at, 
Sybrandt "?  "  remonstrated  Catherine, 
more  mildly.  "Is  not  our  Kate  af- 
flicted? and  is  she  not  the  most  con- 
tent of  us  all,  and  singeth  like  a 
merle  at  times  between  her  pains  ? 
But  I  am  as  bad  as  thou  ;  prithee  read 
on,  Inss,  and  stop  our  babble  wi'  some- 
what worth  the  hearkening." 

"  '  Then,'  said  I,  '  may  this  thing 
be  ? '  And  I  took  myself  to  task. 
'  Gerard,  son  of  Eli,  dost  thou  well  to 
bemoan  thy  lot,  that  hast  youth  and 
health,  and  here  comes  the  wreck  of 
nature  on  crutches,  praising  God's 
goodness  with  singing  like  a  mavis  ? " 

Catherine.  "  There,  you  see." 

Eli.  "  Whist,  dame,  whist ! " 

"  And,  whenever  he  saw  me,  he  left 
carolling  and  presently  hobbled  up 
and  chanted,  '  Charity,  for  love  of 
Heaven,  sweet  master,  charity,'  with  a 
whine  as  piteous  as  wind  at  keyhole. 
*  Alack,  poor  soul,'  said  I,  '  charity  is 
in  my  heart,  but  not  my  purse,  I  am 
poor  as  thou.'  Then  he  believed  me 
none,  and  to  melt  me  undid  his  sleeve, 
and  showed  a  sore  wound  on  his  arm, 
and  said  he,  '  Poor  cripple  though  I 
be,  I  am  like  to  lose  this  eye  to  boot, 
look  elee.'      I  saw  and  groaned  for 


him,  and  to  excuse  my.seif  let  himwoi 
how  I  had  been  robbed  of  my  la.sl 
copper.  Thereat  he  left  whining  all 
in  a  moment,  and  said,  in  a  big  manly 
voice,  '  Then  I  '11  e'en  take  a  rest. 
Here,  youngster,  pull  thou  this  strap ; 
nay,  fear  not ! '  I  pulled,  and  down 
came  a  stout  pair  of  legs  out  of  his 
back  ;  and  half  his  hump  had  melted 
away,  and  the  wound  in  bis  eye  no 
deeper  than  the  bandage." 

"  Oh  !  "  ejaculated  Margaret's  hear- 
ers, in  a  body. 

"  W^hereat,  seeing  me  astonished, 
he  laughed  in  my  face,  and  told  me  I 
was  not  worth  gulling,  and  offered 
me  his  protection.  '  My  face  was 
prophetic,'  he  said.  'Of  what?' 
said  I.  '  Marry,'  said  he,  '  that  its 
owner  will  starve  in  this  thievish 
land.'  Travel  teaches  e'en  the  young 
wisdom.  Time  was  I  had  turned  and 
fled  this  impostor  as  a  pestilence  ;  but 
now  I  listened  patiently  to  pick  up 
crumbs  of  counsel.  And  well  I  did, 
for  nature  and  its  adventurous  life 
had  crammed  the  poor  knave  with 
shrewdness  and  knowledge  of  the 
homelier  sort,  —  a  child  was  I  beside 
him.  When  he  had  turned  me  inside 
out,  said  he,  '  Didst  well  to  leave 
France  and  make  for  Germany  ;  l)ut 
think  not  of  Holland  again.  Nay, 
on  to  Augsburg  and  Nurnborg,  the 
Paradise  of  craftsmen ;  thence  to 
Venice,  an  thou  wilt.  But  thou  wilt 
never  bide  in  Italy  nor  any  other 
land,  having  once  tasted  the  great 
German  cities.  Why,  there  is  but  one 
honest  country  in  Europe,  and  that  is 
Germany  ;  and  since  thou  art  honest, 
and  since  I  am  a  vagabonc,  Germany 
was  made  for  us  twain.'  I  bade  him 
make  that  good  :  how  might  one 
country  fit  true  men  and  knaves? 
'  Why,  thou  novice,'  said  he,  '  be- 
cause in  an  honest  land  are  fewer 
knaves  to  bite  the  honest  man,  and 
many  honest  men  for  the  knave  to 
bite.  I  was  in  luck,  being  honest,  to 
have  fallen  in  with  a  friendly  sharp. 
Be  my  pal,'  said  he,  '  I  go  to  Nurn- 
berg,  we  will  reach  it  with  full 
pouches.     I  '11   learn  ye   the  cul   da 


TlIK   CI>OISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


237 


bois,  an<l  the  cul  de  jatte,  and  hojv  to 
maund,  and  chant,  and  patter,  and  to 
raise  swcllinfrs,  and  paint  sores  and 
ulcers  on  thy  body  would  take  in  the 
divell.'  I  told  liim,  shivering,  I'd 
liever  die  than  shame  myself  and  my 
folk  so." 

FM.  "  Good  lad !  good  lad  !  " 
"  Why,  what  shame  was  it  for  such 
as  I  to  turn  beggar "?  Beggary  was 
an  ancient  and  most  honorable  mys- 
tery. What  did  holy  monks,  and 
bishops,  and  kings,  when  they  would 
win  Heaven's  smile  ?  why,  wash  the 
feet  of  beggars,  those  favorites  of  the 
saints.  '  The  saints  were  no  fools,' 
he  told  me.  Then  he  did  put  out  his 
foot.  '  Look  at  that,  that  was  washed 
by  the  greatest  king  alive,  Louis  of 
France,  the  last  holy  Thursday  that 
was.  And  the  next  day,  Friday, 
clapped  in  the  stocks  by  the  warden 
of  a  petty  hamlet.'  So  I  told  him 
my  foot  should  walk  between  such 
high  honor  and  such  low  disgrace,  on 
the  safe  path  of  honesty,  please  God. 
Well,  then,  since  I  had  not  spirit  to 
beg,  he  would  indulge  my  perversity. 
I  should  work  under  him,  he  be  the 
licad,  I  the  fingers.  And  with  that 
ho  set  himself  up  like  a  judge,  on  a 
lieap  of  dust  by  the  road's  side,  and 
questioned  me  strictly  what  I  could 
do.  I  began  to  say  I  was  strong  and 
willing.  '  Bah  ! '  said  he,  '  so  is  an 
ox.  Say,  what  canst  do  that  Sir 
Ox  cannot  ? '  I  could  write,  I  had 
won  a  prize  for  it.  '  Canst  write  as 
fast  as  the  printers  ? '  quo'  he,  jeer- 
ing. '  What  else  ? '  I  could  paint. 
'  That  was  better.'  I  was  like  to 
tear  iv.y  hair  to  hear  him  say  so,  and 
me  going  to  Rome  to  write.  I  could 
twang  the  psaltery  a  bit.  '  That  was 
well.  Could  I  tell  stories  ■? '  Ay, 
by  the  score.  '  Then,'  said  he,  '  I 
iiire  you  from  this  moment.'  '  What 
to  do  1 '  said  I.  '  Naught  crooked, 
Sir  Candor,'  says  he.  '  I  will  feed 
tiioc  all  the  way  and  find  thee  work  ; 
and  take  half  thine  earnings,  no 
more.'  '  Agreed,'  said  I,  and  gave 
my  hand  on  it.  'Now,  servant,' 
said   ho,    '  we    will    dine.      But  ye 


need  not  stand  behind  my  chair  for 
two  reasons,  first  I  ha'  got  no  chair, 
and,  next,  good-fellowship  likes  me 
better  than  state.'  And  out  of  liis 
wallet  he  brought  flesh,  fowl,  and 
pastry,  a  good  dozen  of  spices  lapped 
in  a  flax  paper,  and  wine  fit  for  a 
king.  Ne'er  feasted  I  better  than  out 
of  this  beggar's  wallet,  now  my  mas- 
ter. When  we  had  well  eaten  I  was 
for  going  on.  '  But,'  said  he,  '  ser- 
vants should  not  drive  their  masters 
too  liard,  especially  after  feeding,  for 
then  the  body  is  for  repose,  and  the 
mind  tiu'ns  to  contemplation  ' ;  and 
he  lay  on  his  back,  gazing  calmly 
at  the  sky,  and  presently  wondered 
whether  there  were  any  beggars  up 
there.  I  told  him  I  knew  but  of  one, 
called  Lazarus.  '  Could  he  do  the 
cul  de  jatte  better  than  I  ? '  said  he, 
and  looked  quite  jealous  like.  I  told 
him  nay,  Lazarus  was  honest,  though 
a  beggar,  and  fed  daily  of  the  crumbs 
fiiU'n  from  a  rich  man's  table,  and  the 
dogs  licked  his  sores.  '  Servant,' 
quo'  he,  '  1  spy  a  foul  fault  in  thee. 
Thou  liest  without  discretion  ;  now 
the  end  of  lying  being  to  gull,  this  is 
no  better  than  fumbling  with  the  div- 
cU's  tail.  I  pra}^  Heaven  thou  mayst 
prove  to  paint  better  than  thou  cuttest 
wliids,  or  I  am  done  out  of  a  dinner. 
No  beggar  eats  crumbs,  but  only  the 
fat  of  the  land ;  and  dogs  lick  not  a 
beggar's  sores,  being  made  with  spear- 
wort,  or  ratsbane,  or  biting  acids,  from 
which  all  dogs,  and  even  pigs,  abhor. 
My  sores  are  made  after  my  proper 
receipt ;  but  no  dog  would  lick  e'en 
them  twice.  I  have  made  a  scurvy 
bargain ;  art  a  cozening  knave,  I 
doubt,  as  well  as  a  nincompoop.'  I 
deigned  no  reply  to  this  bundle  of 
lies,  which  did  accuse  heavenly  truth 
of  falsehood,  for  not  being  in  a  tale 
with  him.  He  rose,  and  we  took  the 
road ;  and  presently  we  came  to  a 
place  where  were  two  little  wayside 
inns,  scarce  a  furlong  apart.  '  Halt,' 
said  my  master.  '  Their  armories 
arc  sore  faded,  —  all  the  hotter.  Go 
thou  in  ;  shun  the  master  ;  board  the 
wife ;  and  Hatter  her  >nn  sky-high,  all 


238 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  UEARTH. 


but  the  armories,  and  offer  to  color 
tlieiii  dirt  cheap.'  So  I  went  in  and 
told  tlie  wife  I  was  a  painter,  and 
would  revive  her  armories  cheap  ;  but 
she  sent  me  away  with  a  rebuff.  I  to 
my  master.  He  groaned.  '  Yc  arc 
all  fingers  and  no  tongue,'  said  he ; 
'  I  have  made  a  scurvy  bargain. 
Come  and  hear  me  patter  and  flat- 
ter.' Between  the  two  inns  was  a 
high  hedge.  He  goes  behind  it  a 
minute  and  comes  out  a  decent 
tradesman.  We  went  on  to  the 
other  inn,  and  then  I  heard  him 
praise  it  so  fulsome  as  the  very  wife 
did  blush.  '  But,'  says  he,  '  there 
is  one  little,  little  fault ;  your  armo- 
ries arc  dull  and  faded.  Say  but  the 
word,  and  for  a  silver  franc  my  ap- 
prentice here,  tlic  cunningcst  e'er  I 
nad,  shall  make  them  bright  as  ever.' 
Whilst  she  liesitated,  tlie  rogue  told 
her  he  liad  done  it  to  a  little  inn  liard 
by,  and  now  the  inn's  face  was  like 
the  stany  firmament.  'D'ye  hear 
that,  my  man  ? '  cries  she.  '  "  The 
Three  Frogs  "  have  been  and  paint- 
ed up  their  armories  ;  shall  "  The 
Four  Hedgehogs "  be  outshone  by 
them  ? '  So  I  painted,  and  my 
master  stood  by  like  a  lord,  advising 
me  how  to  do,  and  winking  to  me  to 
heed  him  none,  and  I  got  a  silver 
franc.  And  he  took  me  back  to 
'  The  Three  Frogs,'  and  on  the  way 
put  me  on  a  beanl  and  disguised  me, 
and  flattered  '  The  Three  Frogs,' 
and  told  them  how  he  had  adorned 
'  The  Four  Hedgehogs,'  and  into  the 
net  jumped  the  three  poor  simple  frogs, 
and  I  earned  another  silver  franc. 
Then  we  went  on,  and  he  found  his 
crutches,  and  sent  me  forward,  and 
showed  his  'cicatrices  d'emprunt,'  as 
he  called  them,  and  all  his  infirmi- 
ties, at  'The  Four  Hedgehogs,'  and 
got  both  food  and  money,  '  Come 
share  and  share,'  quoth  he;  so  I 
gave  him  one  franc.  '  I  have  made 
a  good  bargain,'  said  he.  'Art  a 
nuiater  limner,  but  takest  too  much 
time.'  So  I  let  him  know  that  in 
matters  of  honest  craft  things  could 
not  be  done  quick  and  well.     '  Then 


do  them  quick,'  quoth  he.  And  he 
told  me  my  name  was  Bon  Bee  ;  and 
I  might  call  him  Ciil  de  Jatte,  be- 
cause that  was  his  lay  at  our  first 
meeting.  And  at  the  next  town  my 
master,  Cul  de  Jatte,  bought  me  a 
psaltery,  and  set  himself  up  again  by 
the  roadside  in  state  like  him  that  erst 
judged  Marsyas  and  Apollo,  piping 
for  vain  glory.  So  I  played  a  strain. 
'  Indifferent  well,  harmonious  Bon 
Bee,'  said  he,  haughtily.  '  Now  tune 
thy  pipes.'  So  I  did  sing  a  sweet 
strain  the  good  monks  taught  me ; 
and  singing  it  reminded  poor  Bon 
Bcc,  Gerard  erst,  of  his  young  days 
and  home,  and  brought  the  water  to 
mine  een.  But,  looking  up,  my  mas- 
ter's visage  was  as  the  face  of  a  little 
boy  whipt  soundly,  or  sipping  foulest 
medicine.  '  Zounds,  stop  that  belly- 
ache blether,'  quoth  he,  '  that  will 
ne'er  wile  a  stiver  out  o'  peasants' 
purses;  'twill  but  sour  the  nurse's 
milk,  and  gar  the  kinc  jump  into 
rivers  to  be  out  of  earshot  on 't. 
What,  false  knave,  did  I  buy  thee  a 
fine  new  psaltery  to  be  minded  o'  my 
latter  end  withal  ?  Hearken  !  these 
be  the  songs  that  glad  the  heart,  and 
fill  the  minstrel's  purse.'  And  he 
sung  so  blasphemous  a  stave,  and  eke 
so  obscene,  as  I  drew  away  from  him 
a  space  that  the  lightning  might  not 
spoil  the  new  psaltery.  However, 
none  came,  being  winter,  and  then  I 
said,  '  Master,  the  Lord  is  dcl)onair. 
Held  I  the  thunder,  yon  ribaldry  had 
been  thy  last,  thou  foul-mouthed 
wretch.' 

"  '  Why,  Bon  Bcc,  what  is  to  do  ?  ' 
quoth  he.  '  I  have  made  an  ill  bar- 
gain. O  perverse  heart,  that  turned 
from  doctrine.'  So  I  bade  him  keep 
his  breath  to  cool  his  broth,  ne'er 
would  I  shame  my  folk  with  singing 
ribald  songs.  '  Then,'  says  he,  sulki- 
ly, '  the  first  fire  we  light  by  the  way- 
side, clap  thou  on  the  music-box  !  so 
't  will  make  our  pot  boil  for  tha 
nonce;  but  with  your 

Oood  people,  let  us  peak  and  pine, 
Cut  tristful  mujjs,  and  miaul  and  whm9 
Thorough  our  noseu  chants  divine. 


THE  CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


239 


never,  never,  never.  Ye  miiiht  as 
well  go  through  Lorraine,  crying, 
Mulleygrubs,  MuUeygrubs,  who  '11 
huy  my  Mulleygrubs  ? '  So  we 
fared  on,  bad  friends.  But  I  took 
a  thought,  and  prayed  hi:n  hum  me 
one  of  his  naughty  ditties  again. 
Then  he  brightened,  and  broke  forth 
into  ribaldry  like  a  nightingale. 
Finger  in  ears  stuffed  I.  No  words  ; 
naught  but  the  bare  melody.  For, 
()  Margarrt,  note  the  sly  malice  of 
tlic  Evil  One  !  Still  to  the  scurviest 
matter  he  weddeth  the  tunablcst 
ditties." 

Catherine.  "  That  is  true  as  Holy 
Writ." 

Si/lirandt.  "  How  know  you  that, 
mother  ?  " 

Cornelis.    "  He  !  he  !  he !  " 

Eli.  "  Whisht,  ye  uneasy  wights, 
and  let  me  hear  the  boy.  He  is  wiser 
than  ye;  wiser  than  his  years." 

"  '  What  tomfoolery  is  this  1  '  said 
he  ;  yet  he  yielded  to  mc,  and  soon  I 

farnercd  three  of  his  melodies  ;  but 
wonld  not  let  Cul  de  Jatte  wot  the 
thing  I  meditated.  '  Show  not  fools 
nor  bairns  unfinished  work,'  saith  the 
by-word.  And  by  this  time  't  was 
night,  and  a  little  town  at  hand,  where 
we  went  each  to  his  inn  ;  for  mj^  mas- 
ter would  not  yield  to  put  oft'  his  rags 
and  other  sores  till  morning ;  nor  I 
to  enter  an  inn  with  a  tatterdemalion. 
So  we  were  to  meet  on  the  road  at 
peep  of  day.  And,  indeed,  we  still 
lodged  apart,  meeting  at  mom  and 

fiarting  at  eve,  outside  each  town  we 
ay  at.  And  waking  at  midnight  and 
cogitating,  good  thoughts  came  down 
to  me,  and  sudden  my  heart  was  en- 
lightened. I  called  to  mind  that  my 
Margaret  had  withstood  the  taking 
of  the  burgomaster's  purse.  '  'T  is 
theft,'  said  you ;  '  disguise  it  how  ye 
will.'  But  I  must  be  wiser  than  my 
betters  ;  and  now  that  which  I  had  as 
good  as  stolen,  others  had  stolen  from 
me.  As  it  came,  so  it  was  gone.  Then 
I  said,  '  Heaven  is  not  cruel,  but 
just' ;  and  I  vowed  a  vow  to  repay 
our  burgomaster  every  shilling  an  I 
could-  And  I  went  forth  in  the  morn- 
11 


ing  sad,  but  hopeful.  I  felt  lighter 
for  the  purse  being  gone.  My  mas- 
ter was  at  the  gate  becrutched.  I 
told  him  I  'd  liever  have  seen  him  in 
another  disguise.  '  Beggars  must  not 
be  clioosers,'  said  he.  However,  soon 
he  made  me  untruss  him,  for  he  felt 
sadly.  His  head  swam.  I  told  him 
forcefully  to  deform  nature  thus  could 
scarce  be  wholesome.  He  answered 
none ;  but  looked  scared  and  hand 
on  head.  By  and  by  he  gave  a  groan, 
and  rolled  on  the  ground  like  a  ball, 
and  writhed  sore.  I  was  scared,  and 
wist  not  what  to  do,  but  went  to  lift 
him ;  but  his  trouble  rose  higher  and 
higher,  he  gnashed  his  teeth  fearfully, 
and  the  foam  did  fly  from  his  lips ; 
and  presently  his  body  bended  itself 
like  a  bow,  and  jerked  and  bounded 
many  times  into  the  air.  I  exorcised 
him  ;  it  but  made  him  wors;.'.  There 
was  water  in  a  ditch  hard  by,  not  very 
clear;  but,  the  poor  creature  strug- 
gling i)etween  life  and  death,  I  filled 
my  hat  withal,  and  came  flying  to 
souse  him.  Then  my  lord  laughed  in 
my  face.  '  Come,  Bon  Bee,  by  thy 
white  gills,  I  have  not  forgotten  my 
trade.'  I  stood  with  watery  hat  in 
hand,  glaring.  '  Could  this  be  feign- 
ing ? '  '  What  else  1 '  said  he.  '  Why, 
a  real  fit  is  the  sorriest  thing ;  but 
a  stroke  with  a  feather  compared 
with  mine.  Art  still  betters  na- 
ture.' '  But  look,  e'en  now  blood 
trickleth  from  your  nose,'  said  I. 
'  Ay,  ay,  pricked  my  nostrils  with 
a  straw.'  '  But  ye  foamed  at  the 
lips.'  '  0,  a  little  soap  makes  a 
mickle  foam.'  And  he  drew  out  a 
morsel  like  a  bean  from  his  mouth. 
'  Thank  thy  stars,  Bon  Bee,'  says 
he,  '  for  leading  thee  to  a  worthy 
master.  Each  day  his  lesson.  To- 
morrow we  will  study  the  cul  do  bois 
and  other  branches.  To-day,  own 
mc  prince  of  demoniacs,  and  indeed 
of  all  good  fellows.'  Then,  being 
l)uffed  up,  he  forgot  yesterday's 
grudge,  and  discoursed  me  freely  of 
beggars  ;  and  gave  me,  who  eftsoons 
thought  a  beggar  was  a  beggav,  and 
there  an  end,  the  names  and  qualitieu 


240 


THE   CLOISTER    AND   THE   HEARTH. 


of  full  thirty  sorts  of  masterful  and 
crafty  mendicants  in  France  and  Ger- 
many, and  England,  his  three  prov- 
inces ;  for  so  the  poor,  proud  knave 
yclept  those  kingdoms  three  ;  -wherein 
his  throne  it  was  the  stocks,  I  ween. 
And  outside  the  next  village  one  had 
gone  to  dinner  and  left  his  wheel- 
barrow. So  says  he  :  '  I  '11  tie  myself  in 
a  knot,  and  shalt  wheel  me  through  ; 
and  what  with  my  cripplcdom  and 
thy  piety,  a  wheeling  of  thy  poor  old 
dad,  we  '11  bleed  the  bumpkins  of  a 
dacha-saltee.'  I  did  refuse.  I  would 
work  for  him,  but  no  hand  would 
have  in  begging.  '  And  wheeling 
an  "  asker  "  in  a  barrow,  is  not  that 
work  ? '  said  he ;  '  then  fling  yon 
muckle  stone  in  to  boot ;  stay,  I  '11 
soil  it  a  bit,  and  swear  it  is  a  chip  of 
the  holy  sepulchre  ;  and  you  wheeled 
US  both  from  Jerusalem.'  Said  1  -. 
'  Wheeling  a  pair  o'  lies,  one  stony, 
one  fleshly,  may  be  work,  and  hard 
work,  but  honest  work  't  is  not. 
'T  is  fumbling  with  his  tail  you  wot 
of.  And,'  said  I,  '  master,  next  time 
you  go  to  tempt  me  to  knavery,  speak 
not  to  me  of  my  poor  old  dad.'  Said 
I :  '  You  have  minded  mc  of  my  real 
father's  face,  the  truest  man  in  Hol- 
land. He  and  I  are  ill  friends  now, 
worse  luck.  But,  though  I  otlend 
him,  shame  him  I  never  will.'  Dear 
Margaret,  with  this  '  knave  saying, 
'  Your  poor  old  dad,'  it  had  gone  to 
my  heart  like  a  knife.  '  'T  is  well,' 
said  my  master,  gloomily ;  '  I  have 
made  a  bad  bargain.'  Presently  he 
halts,  and  eyes  a  tree  by  the  wayside. 
'  Go  spell  me  what  is  writ  on  yon 
tree.'  So  T  went,  and  there  was 
naught  but  a  long  square  drawn  in 
outline.  I  told  him  so.  '  So  much 
for  thy  monkish  lore,'  quoth  he.  A 
little  farther,  and  he  sent  me  to  read 
a  wall.  There  was  naught  but  a  cir- 
cle scratched  on  the  stone  with  the 
point  of  nail  or  knife,  and  in  the 
circle  two  dots.  I  said  so.  Then 
said  he  :  '  Bon  Bee,  that  square  was 
a  warning.  Some  good  Truand  left 
it,  that  came  through  this  village 
faring  west}    that  means   "danger- 


ous." The  circle  with  the  two  dots 
was  writ  by  another  of  our  brother- 
hood ;  and  it  signifies  as  how  the 
writer,  soit  RoUin  Trapu,  soit  Tri- 
boulet,  soit  Catin  Cul  de  bois.orAvhat 
not,  was  becked  for  asking  here,  and 
lay  two  months  in  Starabin.'  Then 
he  broke  forth  :  '  Talk  of  your  little 
snivelling  books  that  go  in  pouch. 
Three  books  have  I,  France,  Eng- 
land, and  Germany ;  and  they  arc 
writ  all  over  in  one  tongue,  that  my 
brethren  of  all  countries  understand  ; 
and  that  is  what  I  call  learning.  So 
sith  here  they  whip  sores,  and  im- 
prison infirmities,  I  to  my  tiring- 
room.'  And  he  popped  bchiiV  the 
hedge,  and  came  back  worshipful. 
We  passed  through  the  village,  and 
I  sat  me  down  on  the  stocks,  and, 
even  as  the  barber's  apprentice  whets 
his  razor  on  a  block,  so  did  I  flesh 
my  psaltery  on  this  \'illage,  fearing 
great  cities.  I  tuned  it,  and  coursed 
up  and  down  the  wires  nimbly  with 
my  two  wooden  strikers ;  and  then 
chanted  loud  and  clear,  as  I  had 
heard  the  minstrels  of  the  country, 

'  Qui  vent  ouir  qui  veut  Savoir,' 

some  trash,  I  mind  not  what.  And 
soon  the  villagers,  male  and  female, 
thronged  about  me  ;  thereat  I  left 
singing,  and  recited  them  to  the  psal- 
tery a  short  but  right  merry  tale  out 
of  '  the  lives  of  the  saints,'  which  it 
is  my  handbook  of  pleasant  frag- 
ments ;  and,  this  ended,  instantly 
struck  np  and  whistled  one  of  Cul 
de  Jatte's  devil's  ditties,  and  played 
it  on  the  psaltery  to  boot.  Thou 
knowest  Heaven  hath  bestowed  on  me 
a  rare  whistle,  both  for  compass  and 
time.  And  with  me  whistling  bright 
and  full  this  sprightly  air,  and  mak- 
ing the  wires  sIom'  when  the  tune  did 
gallop,  and  tripping  when  the  tune 
did  amble,  or  I  did  stop  and  shake  on 
one  note  like  a  lark  i'  the  air,  they 
were  like  to  eat  me  ;  but,  looking 
round,  lo  !  my  master  had  given  way 
to  his  itch,  and  there  was  his  hat  on 
the  ground,  and  copper  pouring  in. 
I  deemed  it  cruel  to  whistle  the  bread 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   IIEARtH. 


241 


out  of  poverty' s  pouch  ;  so  broke  off 
and  away  ;  yet  could  not  ixct  clear  so 
swift  but  both  men  and  women  did 
slobber  me  sore,  and  smellcd  all  of 
garlic.  '  There,  master,'  said  I,  '  I 
call  that  cleaving  the  divell  in  twain, 
and  keejiing  his  white  half.'  Said 
he,  '  Bon  Bee,  I  have  madt;  a  good 
bargain.'  Then  he  bade  nie  stay 
where  I  was  while  he  went  to  the 
Holy  Land.  I  stayed,  and  he  leaped 
the  churchyard  dike,  and  the  sexton 
was  dig.ii'ing  a  grave,  and  my  master 
chaffered  with  him,  and  came  back 
with  a  knuckle  bone.  But  why  he 
'clept  a  churchyard  Iluly  Lund,  that  I 
learned  not  then,  but  after  dinner.  I 
was  coloring  the  armories  of  a  little 
inn  ;  and  he  sat  l)y  me  most  peace- 
able, a  cutting,  and  tiling,  and  polish- 
ing bones  sedately  ;  so  1  spccred  was 
not  honest  work  sweet  ?  '  Jis  rain- 
water,' said  he,  mocking.  '  What 
was  he  a  making  V  'A  pair  of 
bones  to  play  on  with  thee  ;  and  with 
the  refuse  a  St.  Anthony's  thumb, 
and  a  St.  Martin's  little  finger,  for 
the  devout.'  The  vagabond  And 
now,  sweet  Margaret,  thou  secst  our 
manner  of  life  foring  Khineward.  I 
with  the  two  arts  I  had  least  prized 
or  counted  on  for  bread  was  welcome 
everywhere ;  too  poor  now  to  fear  rob- 
bers, yet  able  to  keep  both  master  and 
man  on  the  road.  For  at  night  I 
often  made  a  portraiture  of  the  inn- 
keeper or  his  dame,  and  so  went 
richer  from  an  inn  ;  the  which  it  is 
the  lot  of  few.  But  my  master  de- 
spised this  even  way  of  life.  '  I  love 
ups  and  downs,'  said  he.  And  ccrtes 
he  lacked  them  not.  One  day  he 
would  gather  more  than  I  in  three  ; 
another,  to  hear  his  tale,  it  had  rained 
kicks  all  day  in  lieu  of  '  saltees,'  and 
that  is  pennies.  Yet  even  then  at 
heart  he  despised  me  for  a  poor 
mechanical  soul,  and  scorned  my  arts, 
extolling  his  own,  the  art  of  feigning. 
"  Natheless,  at  odd  times  was  he 
ill  at  his  ease.  Going  through  the 
town  of  Aix  we  came  upon  a  beggar 
walking  fast  by  one  hand  to  a  cart- 
tail,  and  the  hangman  a  lashing  his 


bare,  bloody  back.  The  stont  knave, 
so  whipt,  did  not  a  jot  relent ;  hut 
I  did  wince  at  every  stroke,  and  my 
master  hung  his  head. 

"  '  Soon  or  late,  Bon  Bee,'  quoth 
he,  —  'soon  or  late.'  I  seeing  his 
haggard  face  knew  what  he  meancd. 
And  at  a  town,  whose  name  hath 
slipped  me,  hut  't  was  on  a  fair  river, 
as  we  came  to  the  foot  of  the  bridge,  he 
halted  and  shuddered.  '  Why,  what 
is  the  coil  ?  '  said  I.  '  O  blind,'  said 
he,  '  they  are  justifying  there.'  So 
naught  would  serve  him  but  take  a 
boat,  and  cross  the  river  by  water. 
But  'twas  out  of  the  frying-pan,  as 
the  word  goeth.  F'or  the  boatmen  had 
scarce  told  us  the  matter,  and  that  it 
was  a  man  and  a  woman  for  steal- 
ing ghized  windows  out  of  housen, 
and  that  the  man  was  Inmged  at  day- 
break, and  the  quean  to  be  drowned, 
when  lo  !  they  did  fling  her  off  the 
bridge,  and  fell  in  the  water  not  tar 
from  us.  And  oh !  Margaret,  the 
deadly  splash !  It  ringeth  in  mine 
ears  even  now.  But  worse  was  com- 
ing ;  for,  though  tied,  she  came  up 
and  cried  '  Help  !  help  ! '  and  I,  for- 
getting all,  and  hearing  a  woman's 
voice  cry  '  Help  ! '  was  for  leaping  in 
to  save  her,  and  had  surely  done  it, 
but  the  boatmen  and  Cul  de  Jatte 
clung  round  me,  and  in  a  moment 
the  bourreau's  man,  that  waited  in  a 
boat,  came  and  entangled  his  hooked 
pole  in  her  long  hair,  and  so  thrust 
her  do^vn  and  ended  her.  O,  if  the 
saints  answered  so  our  cries  for  help  ! 
And  poor  Cul  de  Jatte  groaned,  and 
I  sat  sobbing,  and  beat  my  breast  and 
cried,  '  Of  what  hath  God  made  men's 
hearts  1 ' " 

The  reader  stopped,  and  the  tears 
trickled  down  her  cheeks.  Gerard 
crying  in  Lorraine  made  her  cry  at 
Rotterdam.  The  leagues  were  no 
more  to  her  heart  than  the  breadth 
of  a  room. 

Eli,  softened  by  many  tonclus  in 
the  letter,  and  by  the  reader's  woman- 
ly graces,  said  kindly  enough,  "  Take 
thy  time,  lass.  And  methinks  some 
of  ye  might  lind  her  a  creepie  to  rest 


242 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


her  foot,  and  she  so  near  her  own 
tiouble." 

"  I  'd  do  more  for  her  than  that  an 
I  durst,"  said  Catherine.  "Here, 
("ornelis,"  and  she  held  out  her  little 
wooden  stool,  and  that  worthy,  who 
hated  Margaret  worse  than  ever,  had 
to  take  the  creepie  and  put  it  carefully 
under  her  foot. 

"You  are  very  kind,  dame,"  she 
faltered.  "I  will  read  on  ;  't  is  all  I 
can  do  for  you  in  turn. 

"Thus  seeing  my  master  ashy  and 
sore  shaken,  I  deemed  this  horrible 
tragic  act  came  timeously  to  warn 
him,  so  I  strove  sore  to  turn  him  from 
his  ill  ways,  discoursing  of  sinners 
and  their  lethal  end.  'Too  late!' 
said  he,  '  too  late  !'  and  gnashed  his 
teetli.  Then  I  told  him  'too  late' 
was  the  divell's  favorite  whisper  in  re- 
pentant ears.     Said  I — 

•The  Lord  is  debonair, 
Let  sinners  naught  despair.' 

*  Too  late!'  said  he,  and  gnashed 
his  teeth,  and  writhed  his  face,  as 
though  vipers  were  biting  his  inward 
parts.  But,  dear  heart,  his  was  a 
mind  like  running  water.  Ere  we 
cleared  the  town  he  was  carolling,  and 
outside  the  gate  hung  the  other  cid- 
l)rit  from  the  bough  of  a  little  tree, 
and  scarce  a  yard  above  the  ground. 
And  that  stayed  my  vagabone's  music. 
But,  ere  we  had  gone  another  furlong, 
he  feigned  to  have  dropped  his  rosary, 
and  ran  back,  with  no  good  intent,  as 
you  shall  he:ir.  I  strolled  on  very 
slowly,  and  often  halting,  and  pres- 
.ently  lie  came  stumping  up  on  one 
leg,  and  that  bandaged.  I  asked  him 
how  he  could  contrive  that,  for  't  was 
masterly  done.  '  O,  that  was  his 
mystery.  Would  I  know  that,  I  must 
join  the  brotherhood.'  And  presently 
we  did  pass  a  narrow  lane,  and  at  the 
mouth  on  't  espied  a  written  stone, 
telling  beggars  by  a  word  like  a  wee 
pitclifork  to  go  that  way.  '  'T  is  yon 
hum-house,' said  he:  'bide  thou  at 
hand.'  And  he  went  to  the  house, 
and  came  back  with  money,  food,  and 
wine.     'This  lad  did  the  business,' 


said  he,  slapping  his  one  leg  proudly. 
Then  he  undid  the  bandage,  and  with 
jyridefid  face  showed  me  a  hole  in  his 
calf  you  could  have  put  your  neef  in. 
Had  I  been  strange  to  his  tricks,  here 
was  a  leg  had  drawn  my  last  penny. 
Presently  another  farm-house  by  the 
road.  He  made  for  it.  I  stood  and 
asked  myself  should  I  run  away 
and  leave  him,  not  to  be  shamed  in 
my  own  despite  by  him.  But,  while 
I  doubted,  there  was  a  great  noise, 
and  my  master  well  cudgelled  by  the 
farmer  and  his  men,  and  came  towards 
me  hobbling  and  holloaing ;  for  the 
peasants  had  laid  on  heartily.  But 
more  trouble  was  at  his  heels.  Some 
mischievous  wight  loosed  a  dog  as 
big  as  a  jackass  colt,  and  came  roar- 
ing after  him,  and  downed  him  mo- 
mently. I  deeming  the  poor  rogue's 
death  certain,  and  him  least  fit  to  die, 
drew  my  sword  and  ran  shouting. 
But,  ere  I  could  come  near,  the  muckle 
dog  had  torn  away  his  bad  leg,  and 
ran  growling  to  his  lair  with  it : 
and  Cul  de  Jatte  slipped  his  knot,  and 
came  running  like  a  lapwing,  with  his 
hair  on  end,  and  so  striking  with  both 
crutches  before  and  behind  at  unreal 
dogs  as  't  was  like  a  windmill  crazed. 
He  fled  adown  the  road.  I  followed 
leisurely,  and  found  him  at  dinner. 
'Curse  the  quines,'  said  he.  And 
not  a  word  all  dinner-time  but  'curse 
the  quines!' 

"I  said  I  must  know  who  they  were 
before  I  would  curse  them. 

"'Quines?  why,  that  was  dogs. 
And  I  knew  not  even  that  much? 
He  had  made  a  bad  bargain.  Well, 
well,' said  he;  'to-morrow  we  shall 
be  in  Germany.  There  the  folk  are 
music-bitten,  and  they  molest  not  beg- 
gars, unless  they  fake  to  boot,  and 
then  they  drown  us  out  of  hand  that 
moment,  curse  'em!'  We  came  to 
Strasbourg.  And  I  looked  down 
Rhine  with  longing  heart.  The 
stream,  how  swift!  It  seemed  run- 
ning to  clip  Sevenbergen  to  its  soft 
bosom.  With  but  a  piece  of  timber 
and  an  oar,  I  might  drift  at  my  ease 
to    thee,   sleeuing    vet    gliding    stilL 


THE  CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


243 


'T  was  a  sore  temptation.  But  the 
fear  of  an  ill  welcome  from  my  folk, 
and  of  the  neighbors'  sneers,  and  the 
hope  of  coming  back  to  thee  victori- 
ous, not,  as  now  I  must,  defeated  and 
shamed,  and  thee  with  nic,  it  did  with- 
hold me ;  and  so,  with  many  sighs, 
and  often  turning  of  the  head  to  look 
on  beloved  Rhine,  I  turned  sorrowful 
face  and  heavy  heart  towards  Augs- 
burg." 

"Alas,  dame,  alas.  Good  master 
Eli,  forgive  me !  But  I  ne'er  can  win 
over  this  part  all  at  one  time.  It 
taketh  my  breath  away.  Well-a-day ! 
"Why  did  he  not  listen  to  his  heart  ? 
Had  he  not  gone  through  pei'il  enow, 
sorrow  enow  ?  Well-a-day  !  well-a- 
day  ! " 

The  letter  dropped  from  her  hand, 
and  she  drooped  like  a  wounded  lily. 

Then  there  was  a  clatter  on  the 
floor,  and  it  was  little  Kate  going  on 
her  crutches,  with  flushed  face  and 
eyes  full  of  pity,  to  console  her. 
"  Water,  mother,"  she  cried.  "  I  am 
afeared  she  shall  swoon." 

"  Nay,  nay,  fear  me  not,"  said 
Margaret,  feebly.  "  I  will  not  be  so 
troublesome.  Tliy  good- will  it  maketh 
me  stouter  -  hearted,  sweet  Mistress 
Kate.  For,  if  thou  carest  how  I  fare, 
sure  Heaven  is  not  against  me." 

Catherine.  "  D'  ye  hear  that,  my 
man  ? " 

Eli.  "  Ay,  wife,  I  hear,  and  mark 
to  boot." 

Little  Kate  went  hack  to  her  place, 
and  Margaret  read  on.  "  The  Ger- 
mans are  fonder  of  armorials  than 
the  French.  So  I  found  work  every 
day.  And,  whiles  1  wrought,  my 
master  would  leave  me,  and  dotf  his 
raiment  and  don  his  rags,  and  other 
infirmities,  and  cozen  the  world,  which 
he  did  clepe  it  '  plucking  of  the 
geese':  this  done,  would  meet  me 
and  demand  half  my  earnings  ;  and 
with  resistless  piercfhg  eye  ask  me 
would  I  be  so  base  as  cheat  my  poor 
master  by  making  three  parts  in  lieu 
of  two,  till  I  threatened  to  lend  him 
a  cuff  to  boot  in  requital  of  his  sus- 


picion ;  and  thenceforth  took  his  due, 
with  feigned  confidence  in  my  good 
faith,  the  which  his  dancing  eye  be- 
lied. Early  in  Germany  we  had  a 
(juarrel.  I  had  seen  him  buy  a  skull 
of  a  jailer's  wife,  and  mighty  zealous 
a  polishing  it.  Thought  I,  How  can 
he  carry  you  memento,  and  not  re- 
pent, seeing  where  ends  his  way  ? 
Presently  I  did  catch  him  selling  it  to 
a  woman  for  the  head  of  St.  Barnabas, 
with  a  tale  had  cozened  an  Ebrew. 
So  I  snatched  it  out  of  their  hands, 
and  trundled  it  into  the  ditch. 
'  How,  thou  impious  knave  ? '  said  I, 
'  wouldst  sell  for  a  saint  the  skull  of 
some  dead  thief,  thy  brother  ? '  He 
slunk  away.  But  shallow  she  did 
crawl  after  the  skull,  and  with  apron 
reverently  dust  it  for  Barnabas,  and 
it  Barabbas ;  and  so  home  with  it. 
Said  I,  '  Non  vult  anser  velli,  sed  pop- 
ulus  vult  decipi.' " 

Catherine.  "  O  the  goodly  Latin  !  " 
Eli.  "  What  ineaneth  it  1 " 
Catherine.  "  Nay,  I  know  not ;    but 
't  is  Latin  ;    is  not  that  enow '?     He 
was  the  flower  of  the  flock." 

"  Then  I  to  him  :  '  Take  now  thy 
psaltery,  and  part  we  here,  for  art  a 
walking  prison,  a  walking  hell.'  But 
lo  !  my  master  fell  on  his  knees,  and 
begged  me  for  pity's  sake  not  turn 
him  off.  '  What  would  become  of 
him  1  He  did  so  love  honesty.' 
'  Thou  love  honesty  1 '  said  I.  '  Ay,' 
said  he,  '  not  to  enact  it :  the  saints 
forbid  !  But  to  look  on.  'T  is  so  fair 
a  thing  to  look  on.  Alas,  good  Bon 
Bee,'  said  he ;  '  hadst  starved  perad- 
venture  but  for  me.  Kick  not  down 
thy  ladder !  Call  ye  that  just  ?  Nay, 
calm  thy  choler  !  Have  pity  on  me ! 
I  must  have  a  pal ;  and  how  could  I 
bear  one  like  myself  after  one  so  sim- 
ple as  thou ;  He  might  cut  my 
throat  for  the  money  that  is  hid  in 
my  belt ;  "t  is  not  much ;  't  is  not 
much.  With  thee  I  walk  at  mine 
ease;  with  a  sharp  I  dare  not  go  be- 
fore in  a  narrow  way.  Alas  !  forgive 
me.  Now  I  know  where  in  thy  bon- 
net lurks  the  bee,  I  will  ware  his 


244 


THE  CLOISTER   AND   THE   IIEAKTH. 


sting;  I  will  but  pluck  the  secular 
goose.'  '  So  he  it,'  said  I.  '  And  ex- 
ample was  contagious ;  he  should  be 
a  true  man  by  then  we  reached  Nurn- 
berg.  'T  was  a  long  way  to  Nurn- 
berg.'  Seeing  liim  so  humble,  I  said  : 
'  Well,  dort"  rags,  and  make  thyself 
decent;  'twill  help  me  forget  wliat 
thou  art.'  And  he  did  so ;  and  we 
sat  down  to  our  noncmetc.  Pres- 
ently c;une  by  a  reverend  ]>almcr  with 
liat  stuck  round  with  cockle-shells 
from  Holy  Land,  and  great  rosary  of 
beads  like  eggs  of  teul,  and  sandals 
for  shoes.  And  he  leaned  aweary  on 
his  long  staff,  and  otlercd  us  a  shell 
apiece.  My  nuistcr  would  none.  IJut 
I,  to  set  him  a  better  example,  took 
one,  and  for  it  gave  the  ])oor  jiilgrim 
two  batzen,  and  had  his  blessing. 
And  he  was  scarce  gone  when  we 
heard  savage  cries,  and  came  a  sorry 
sight,  one  leading  a  wild  woman  in  a 
chain,  all  rags,  and  howling  like  a 
wolf  And  when  they  came  nigh  ns 
she  fell  to  tearing  her  rags  to  threads. 
The  man  sought  an  alms  of  us,  and 
told  us  his  hard  case.  'T  was  liis 
wife,  stark,  raving  nuid  ;  and  he  could 
not  work  in  the  fields,  and  leave  her 
in  his  house  to  fire  it,  nor  cure  her 
could  he  without  the  Saintys  hel]), 
and  had  vowed  six  ]>ounds  of  Avax  to 
St.  Anthony  to  lieal  her,  and  so  was 
fain  beg  of  charitable  folk  for  the 
money.  And  now  she  espied  us,  and 
flew  at  me  with  her  long  nails,  and  I 
was  cold  with  fear,  so  devilish  showed 
her  face  and  rolling  eyes  and  nails 
like  birdys  talons.  But  he  with  the 
chain  checked  her  sudden,  and  with 
his  whip  did  cruelly  lash  her  for  it, 
that  I  cried, '  Forbear  !  forbear !  She 
knoweth  not  what  she  doeth ' ;  and 
gave  him  a  batz.  And  being  gone, 
said  I,  '  Master,  of  those  twain  I  know 
not  which  is  the  more  pitiable.'  And 
he  laughed  in  my  face.  '  Behold  thy 
justice,  Bon  Bee,'  said  he.  '  Thou 
railest  on  thy  poor,  good,  within-an- 
ace-of-honest  master,  and  bestowest 
alms  on  a  "  vopper." '  '  Vopper,' 
said  I,  '  what  is  vopper  ? '  '  Why,  a 
trull  that  feigns  madness     That  was 


one  of  us,  that  sham  maniac,  and 
wow  but  she  did  il  cliunsily.  I 
blushed  for  her  anil  thee.  Also 
gavest  two  batzen  for  a  shell  from 
Holy  Land,  that  came  no  farther  than 
Normandy.  I  have  culled  them  my- 
self on  that  coast  by  scores,  and  sold' 
them  to  pilgrims  true  and  pilgrims 
false,  to  gull  flats  like  thee  withal.' 
'  What ! '  said  I ;  '  that  reverend 
man  ? '  '  One  of  us  ! '  cried  Cul  do 
.Jatte  ;  '  one  of  us  !  In  PVance  wo 
call  them  "  Coquillarts,"  but  here 
"  Calmierers."  liaiiest  on  me  for 
selling  a  false  relic  now  and  then,  and 
wastest  tiiy  earnings  on  such  as  sell 
naught  else.  I  tell  thee,  Bon  Bee,' 
said  he,  '  there  is  not  one  true  relic  on 
earth's  face.  The  saints  died  a  thou- 
sand years  agone,  and  their  bones 
mixed  with  tlie  dust ;  but  the  trade  in 
relies,  it  is  of  yesterday  ;  and  there 
are  forty  thousand  tramjis  in  Euroj)e 
live  by  it,  selling  relies  of  forty  or 
fifty  bodies  ;  O  threadbare  lie  !  And 
of  the  true  cross  enow  to  build  C'o- 
logne  Minster.  Why  then  may  not 
poor  Cul  de  Jatte  turn  his  ])enny  with 
the  crowd  ?  Art  but  a  scun'y,  tyran- 
nical servant  to  let  thy  j)oor  nuistcr 
from  his  share  of  the  swag  with  .your 
whorson  ])ilgrims,  ])almers,  and  friars, 
black,  gray,  and  crutchcd  ;  for  all 
these  arc  of  our  brotherhood,  and  of 
our  art,  only  masters  they,  and  wo 
but  poor  api)rcntices  in  guile.'  For 
his  tongue  was  an  ell  anil  a  half. 

"  '  A  truce  to  thy  irreverend  soph- 
istries,' said  I,  '  and  say  what  compa- 
ny is  this  a  coming.'  '  Bohemians,' 
cried  he.  '  Ay,  ay,  this  shall  be  the 
rest  of  the  band.'  With  that  came 
along  so  motley  a  crew  as  never  your 
eyes  beheld,  dear  Margaret.  Marched 
at  their  head  one  with  a  banner  on  a 
steel-pointed  hmce,  and  girded  with  a 
great  long  sword,  and  in  velvet  doub- 
let and  leathern  jerkin,  the  which 
stuffs  ne'er  saw  I  Avedded  afore  on 
mortal  flesh,  an3  a  gay  feather  in  his 
lordly  cap,  and  a  couple  of  dead  fowls 
at  liis  back,  the  which,  an  the  spark 
had  come  by  honestly,  I  am  much 
mistook.      Him  followed  wives   and 


THE   CLOISIKK   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


245 


babes  on  two  lean  horses,  whose 
flanks  still  rattled  like  parchment 
drum,  being  beaten  by  kettles  and 
caldrons.  Next  an  armed  man  a  rid- 
ing of  a  horse,  which  drew  a  cart  full 
of  females  and  children  ;  and  in  it, 
sitting  backwards,  a  lusty,  lazy  knave, 
lance  in  hand,  with  his  luxurious  feet 
raised  on  a  holy-water  pail  that  lay 
along,  and  therein  a  cat,  new  kittened, 
sat  glowing  o'er  her  brood,  and  sparks 
for  eyes.  And  the  cart-horse  cavalier 
had  on  his  shoulders  a  round  bundle, 
and  thereon  did  perch  a  cock  and 
crowed  with  zeal,  poor  ruffler,  proud 
of  his  brave  feathers  as  the  rest,  and 
haply  with  more  reason,  being  his 
own.  And  on  an  ass  another  wife 
and  new-born  child ;  and  one  poor 
quean  afoot  scarce  dragged  herself 
along,  so  near  her  time  was  she,  yet 
held  two  little  ones  by  the  hand,  and 
helplessly  helped  them  on  tlie  road. 
And  the  little  folk  were  just  a  farce  ; 
some  rode  sticks,  with  horses'  heads, 
between  their  legs,  which  pranced  and 
caracoled,  and  soon  wearied  the  riders 
so  sore,  they  stood  stock-still  and 
wept,  which  cavaliers  were  presently 
taken  into  cart  and  cuffed.  And  one 
more  grave,  lost  in  a  man's  hat  and 
feather,  walked  in  Egyptian  darkness, 
handed  by  a  girl ;  another  had  the 
great  saucepan  on  his  back,  and  a 
tremendous  three-footed  clay  pot  sat 
on  his  head  and  slioulders,  swallow- 
ing him  so  as  he  too  went  darkling, 
led  by  his  sweetheart  three  foot  high. 
When  tliey  were  gone  by,  and  we  had 
both  laughed  lustily,  said  I:  'Nathe- 
less,  master,  my  bowels  they  yearn  for 
one  of  that  tawdry  band,  even  for  the 
poor  wife  so  near  the  down-lying,  scarce 
able  to  drag  herself,  yet  still,  poor  soul, 
helping  the  weaker  on  the  way.'  " 

Catherine.  "Nay,  nay,  Margaret. 
Why,  wench,  pluck  up  heart.  Certes 
thou  art  no  Bohemian." 

Kate.  "  Nay,  mother,  't  is  not  that, 
I  trow,  but  her  dear  father.  And, 
dear  heart,  why  take  notice  to  put 
her  to  the  blush  ?  " 

Riclmrt   "  So  I  say." 


"  And  he  derided  me.  '  Why, 
that  is  a"  biltrcger,"  '  said  he,  'and 
you  waste  your  bowels  on  a  pillow, 
or  so  forth.'  I  told  him  he  lied. 
'  Time  would  show,'  said  he,  '  wait 
till  they  camp.'  And  rising  after 
meat  and  meditation,  and  travelling 
forward,  we  found  them  camped  be- 
tween two  great  trees  on  a  common 
by  the  wayside  ;  and  they  had  lighted 
a  fire,  and  on  it  was  their  caldron  ; 
and,  one  of  the  trees  slanting  o'er  the 
fire,  a  kid  hung  down  by  a  chain  from 
the  tree-fork  to  the  fire,  and  in  the 
fork  was  wedged  an  urchin,  turning 
still  the  chain  to  keep  the  meat  from 
burning,  and  a  gay  spark  with  a 
feather  i:i  his  cap  cut  up  a  sheep ; 
and  another  had  spitted  a  leg  of  it  on 
a  wooden  stake  ;  and  a  Moman  ended 
chanticleer's  pride  with  wringing  of 
his  neck.  And  under  the  other  tree 
four  rufflcrs  played  at  cards,  and 
quarrelled,  and  no  words  sans  oath  ; 
and  of  these  lewd  gamblers  one  had 
cockles  in  his  Iiat,  and  was  my  rever- 
end pilgrim.  And  a  female,  young 
and  comely,  and  dressed  like  a  l)ut- 
terfly,  sat  and  mended  a  heaj)  of  dirty 
rags.  And  Cul  de  Jatte  said  :  '  Yon 
is  the  "  vopper  "  ;  and  I  looked  incred- 
ulous and  looked  again,  and  it  was 
so,  and  at  her  feet  sat  he  that  had  so 
late  lashed  her,  but  I  ween  he  had  wist 
where  to  strike,  or  woe  betide  him ; 
and  she  did  now  oppress  him  sore, 
and  made  him  thread  her  very  needle, 
the  which  he  did  with  all  humility ; 
so  was  their  comedy  turned  seamy 
side  without ;  and  Cul  de  Jatte  told 
me  't  was  still  so  with  '  voppers ' 
and  their  men  in  camj) ;  they  would 
don  their  bravery  though  but  for  an 
hour,  and,  with  their  tinsel,  empire, 
and  the  man  durst  not  the  least  gain- 
say the  '  vopper,'  or  she  would  turn 
him  off  at  these  times,  as  I  my  mas- 
ter, and  take  another  tyrant  more 
submissive.  And  my  master  chuckled 
over  me.  Natheless  we  soon  espied 
a  wife  set  with  her  back  against  the 
tree,  and  her  hair  down,  and  her  face 
white,  and  by  her  side  a  wench  held 
up  to  her  eye  a  new-born  babe,  witlj 


246 


THE   CLOISTER   AND    HIE   HEARTH. 


words  of  cheer,  and  the  rough  fellow, 
her  husband,  did  bring  her  hot  wine 
in  a  cup,  and  bade  her  take  courage. 
And,  just  o'er  the  place  she  sat,  they 
had  pinned  from  bough  to  bough  of 
those  neigliboring  trees  two  shawls, 
and  blankets  two,  together,  to  keep 
the  drizzle  off  her.  And  so  had 
another  poor  little  rogue  come  into 
the  world  ;  and  by  her  own  particular 
folk  tended  gypsywise,  but  of  the 
roasters,  and  boilers,  and  vojipers, 
and  gamblers,  no  more  noticed,  no, 
not  for  a  single  moment,  than  sheep 
which  droppeth  her  lamb  in  a  field, 
by  travellers  upon  the  way.  Then 
said  I,  '  Wliat  of  thy  foul  suspicions, 
master  ?  ovcr-knavcry  blinds  the  eye 
as  well  as  over-simplicity.'  And  he 
laughed  and  said,  '  Triumph,  Bon 
Bee,  triumpli.  The  chances  were 
nine  in  ten  against  thee.'  Then  I 
did  pity  her,  to  be  in  a  crowd  at  such 
a  time ;  but  he  rebuked  me.  '  I 
should  pity  rather  your  queens  and 
royal  duchesses,  which  by  law  are 
condemned  to  groan  in  a  crowd  of 
nobles  and  courtiers,  and  do  writhe 
-with  shame  as  well  as  sorrow,  being 
come  of  decent  mothers,  whereas 
these  gypsy  women  have  no  more 
shame  imder  their  skins  than  a  wolf 
ruth,  or  a  hare  valor.  And,  Bon 
Bee,'  quoth  he,  '  I  espy  in  thee  a  lam- 
entable fault.  Wastest  thy  bowels. 
Wilt  have  none  left  for  thy  poor  good 
master,  which  doeth  thy  will  by  night 
and  day.'  Then  we  came  forward  ; 
and  he  talked  with  the  men  in  some 
strange  Hebrew  cant,  whereof  no 
word  knew  I ;  and  the  poor  knaves 
bade  us  welcome  and  denied  us 
naught.  With  them,  and  all  they 
had,  'twas  lightly  come  and  lightly 
go  ;  and  when  we  left  them  my  mas- 
ter said  to  me,  '  This  is  thy  first  les- 
son ;  but  to-night  we  shall  lie  at 
Hamburg.  Come  with  me  to  the 
"  rotboss  "  there,  and  I  '11  show  thee  all 
our  folk  and  their  lays,  and  especially 
the  "  lossners,"  the  "  dutzers,"  "  the 
Bchleppers,"  "  the  gickisses,"  "  the 
sehwan  felders,"  whom  in  England 
we  call  "  shiv^ering  Jemmies,"  "  the 


siintvegers,"  "  the  schwiegers,"  "  the 
joncrs,"  "  the  sesscl-degers,"  "  the 
gcnsscherers,"  in  France  "  marcan- 
dicrs  or  rifodes,"  "  the  veranerins," 
"  the  stabulers,"  with  a  few  foreign- 
ers like  ourselves,  such  as  "  pietres," 
"  francniitoux,"  "  polissons,  '  "  na- 
lingreux,"  "  traters,"  "rufflers," 
"  wiiipjalks,"  "  dommerars,"  "  glym- 
merars,"  "jarkmcn,"  "  patricos," 
"  swadders,"  "  autem  morts,"  "  walk- 
ing morts." '  —  '  Enow,'  cried  I,  stop- 
ping him,  '  art  as  glcesome  as  the 
Evil  One  a  counting  of  liis  imps.  I  '11 
jot  down  in  my  tablet  all  these  caitiffs 
and  their  accursed  names,  for  knowl- 
edge is  knowledge.  But  go  among 
them,  alive  or  dead,  that  will  I  not 
with  my  good-will.  Moreover,'  said 
I,  '  what  need  1  since  I  have  a  com- 
panion in  thee,  who  is  all  the  knaves 
on  earth  in  one  1 '  and  thought  to 
abash  him  ;  but  his  face  shone  with 
l)ride,  and  hand  on  breast  lie  did  bow 
low  to  me.  '  If  thy  wit  be  scant, 
good  Bon  Bee,  thy  manners  are  a 
charm.  I  have  made  a  good  bar- 
gain.' So  he  to  the  '  rotboss,'  and  I 
to  a  decent  inn,  and  sketched  the 
landlord's  daughter  by  candlelight, 
and  started  at  morn  batzen  three  the 
richer,  but  could  not  find  my  master, 
so  loitered  slowly  on,  and  presently 
met  him  coming  west  for  me,  and 
cursing  the  quiens.  Why  so  1  Be- 
cause he  could  blind  the  culls,  but 
not  the  quiens.  At  last  I  prevailed 
on  him  to  leave  cursing  and  canting, 
and  tell  me  his  adventure.  Said  he  : 
'  I  sat  outside  the  gate  of  yon  mon- 
astery, full  of  sores,  which  I  showed 
the  passers-by.  O  Bon  Bee,  beauti- 
fuller  sores  you  never  saw ;  and  it 
rained  coppers  in  my  hat.  Presently 
the  monks  came  home  from  some  pro- 
cession, and  the  convent  dogs  ran  out 
to  meet  them,  curse  the  quiens ! ' 
'  What,  did  they  fall  on  thee  and  bite 
thee,  poor  soul  1 '  '  Worse,  worse, 
;  dear  Bon  Bee.  Had  they  bitten  mo 
:  I  had  earned  silver.  But  the  great 
idiots,  being,  as  I  think,  puppies,  or 
j  little  better,  fell  on  me  where  I  sat, 
I  downed  me,  and  fell  a  licking  m^ 


THE   CLOISTKR   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


247 


sores  among  them,  as  thou,  false 
knave,  didst  swear  the  whelps  in 
heaven  licked  the  sores  of  Lazybones, 
a  beggar  of  old.'  '  Nay,  nay,'  said 
I,  '  I  said  no  such  thing.  But  tell 
me,  since  they  bit  thee  not,  but  sport- 
fully licked  thee,  what  harm  ? '  '  What 
harm, noodle  ?  why,  the  sores  came  oif.' 
'  How  could  that  be  ' '  '  How  could 
aught  else  be  ?  and  them  just  fresli 
put  on.'  Did  I  think  he  was  so  weak 
as  bite  holes  in  his  flesh  with  rats- 
bane ?  Nay,  he  was  an  artist,  a  paint- 
er like  his  servant,  and  had  put  on 
sores  made  of  pig's  blood,  rye  meal, 
and  glue.  '  So,  when  the  folk  saw 
my  sores  go  on  tongues  of  puppies, 
they  laughed,  and  I  saw  cord  or  sack 
before  me.  So  up  I  jumped,  and 
shouted,  "  A  miracle !  a  miracle  ! 
The  very  dogs  of  this  holy  convent 
be  holy,  and  have  cured  me.  Good 
fathers,"  cried  I,  "  whose  day  is 
this  ?  "  "  St.  Isidore's,"  said  one. 
"  St.  Isidore,"  cried  I,  in  a  sort  of 
rapture.  "  Why,  St.  Isidore  is  my 
patron  saint :  so  that  accounts."  And 
the  simple  folk  swallowed  my  miracle 
as  those  accursed  quiens  my  wounds. 
But  the  monks  took  me  inside  and 
shut  the  gate,  and  put  their  heads  to- 
gether ;  but  I  have  a  quick  ear,  and 
one  did  say  "  Caret  miraculo  monaste- 
rium,"  which  is  Greek  patter,  I  trow, 
leastways  it  is  no  beggar's  cant. 
Finally,  they  bade  the  lay-brethreu 
give  me  a  hiding,  and  take  me  out  a 
back  way  and  put  me  on  the  road, 
and  threatened  me,  did  I  come  back  to 
the  town,  to  hand  me  to  the  magis- 
trate, and  have  me  drowned  for  a 
plain  impostor.  "  Profit  now  by  the 
Church's  grace,"  said  they,  "  and 
mend  thy  ways."  So  forward,  Bon 
Bee,  for  my  life  is  not  sure  nigh  hand 
this  town.'  As  we  went  he  worked 
his  shoulders,  '  Wow,  but  the  breth- 
ren laid  on.  And  what  means  yon 
piece  of  monk's  cant,  I  wonder  ? ' 
bo  I  told  him  the  words  meant, '  The 
monastery  is  in  want  of  a  miracle,' 
but  the  application  thereof  was  dark 
to  me.  '  Dark,'  cried  he,  —  '  dark  as 
ooon.  Why,  it  means  they  are  going 
11* 


,  to  work  the  miracle,  my  miracle,  and 
I  gather  all  the  grain  1  sowed.  There- 
:  fore,  these  blows  on  their  benefac- 
•  tor's  shoulders  :  therefore  is  he  that 
I  wrought  their  scurvy  miracle  driven 
'  forth  with  stripes  and  threats.'  '  O 
cozening  knaves  ! '  said  I,  '  becomes 
you  to  complain  of  guile.'  '  Alas, 
Bon  Bee,'  said  he,  '  I  but  outwit  the 
simple  ;  but  these  monks  would  pluck 
Lucifer  of  his  wing  feathers.'  And 
[  went  a  league  bemoaning  himself  that 
he  was  not  convent-bred  like  his  ser- 
vant. '  He  would  put  it  to  more 
profit ' ;  in  railing  on  quiens.  '  And, 
as  for  those  monks,  there  was  One 
Above.'  '  Certes,'  said  I,  '  there  is 
One  Above.  What  then  1 '  '  Who 
will  call  those  shavelings  to  co  apt, 
one  day,'  quoth  he.  '  And  all  deceit- 
ful men,'  said  I.  At  one  that  after- 
noon I  got  armories  to  paint,  so  my 
master  took  the  yellow  jaundice  and 
went  begging  through  the  town,  and 
with  his  oily  tongue  and  saffron- 
water  face  did  fill  his  hat.  Now  in 
all  the  towns  are  certain  licensed  beg- 
gars, and  one  of  these  was  an  old 
favorite  with  the  townsfolk  ;  had  his 
station  at  St.  Martin's  porch,  the 
greatest  church  ;  a  blind  man  ;  they 
called  him  blind  Hans.  He  saw  my 
master  drawing  coppers  on  the  other 
side  of  the  street,  and  knew  him  by 
his  tricks  for  an  impostor,  so  sent  and 
warned  the  constables,  and  I  met  my 
master  in  the  constables'  hands,  and 
going  to  his  trial  in  the  town  hall. 
1  followed  and  many  more ;  and  he 
was  none  abashed,  neither  by  the 
pomp  of  justice,  nor  memory  of  his 
misdeeds,  but  demanded  his  accuser 
like  a  trumpet.  And  blind  Hans's 
boy  came  forward,  but  was  sifted  nar- 
rowly by  my  master,  and  stammered 
and  faltered,  and  owned  he  had  seen 
nothing,  but  only  carried  blind  Hans's 
tale  to  the  chief  constable.  '  This  is 
but  hearsay,'  said  my  master.  '  Lo 
ye  now,  here  standeth  Misfortune 
backbit  by  Envy.  But  stand  thou 
forth,  blind  Envy,  and  vent  thina 
own  lie.'  And  blind  Hans  behooved 
to  staud  forth,  sore  against  his  will 


248 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


Him  did  my  master  so  press  with 
questions,  and  so  pinch  and  torture, 
asking  him  again  and  again,  how, 
being  blind,  he  could  see  all  that  be- 
fell, and  some  that  befell  not,  across  a 
way  ;  and  why,  an  he  could  not  see, 
he  came  there  holding  up  his  perjured 
hand,  and  maligning  the  misfortu- 
nate,  that  at  last  he  groaned  aloud  and 
would  utter  no  word  more.  And  an 
alderman  said :  '  In  sooth,  Hans,  ye 
are  to  blame  ;  hast  cast  more  dirt  of 
suspicion  on  thyself  than  on  him.' 
But  the  burgomaster,  a  wondrous  fat 
man,  and  methinks  of  his  fat  some 
had  gotten  into  liis  head,  checked  him 
and  said  :  '  Nay,  Hans  we  know  this 
manjr  years,  and,  be  he  blind  or  not, 
he  hath  passed  for  blind  so  long,  't  is 
all  one.  Back  to  thy  porch,  good 
Hans,  and  let  the  strange  varlet  leave 
the  town  incontinent  on  pain  of  whip- 
ping.' Then  my  master  winked  to 
me ;  but  there  rose  a  civic  officer,  in 
his  gown  of  state  and  golden  chain,  a 
Dignity  with  us  lightly  prized,  and 
even  shunned  of  some,  but  in  Ger- 
many and  France  much  courted,  save 
by  condemned  malefactors  ;  to  wit  the 
hangman  ;  and  says  he,  '  An  't  please 
you,  first  let  us  see  why  he  weareth 
his  hair  so  thick  and  low.'  And  his 
man  went  and  lifted  Cid  de  Jatte's 
hair,  and  lo  the  upper  gristle  of  both 
ears  was  gone.  '  How  is  this,  knave  1 ' 
quoth  the  burgomaster.  My  master 
said,  carelessly,  he  minded  not  pre- 
cisely ;  his  had  been  a  life  of  misfor- 
tunes and  losses.  '  When  a  poor  soul 
has  lost  use  of  his  leg,  noble  sirs, 
these  more  trivial  woes  rest  lightly  in 
his  memory.'  When  he  found  this 
would  not  serve  his  turn,  he  named 
two  famous  battles,  in  each  of  which 
he  had  lost  half  an  ear,  a  fighting 
like  a  true  man  against  traitors  and 
rebels.  But  the  hangman  showed 
them  the  two  cuts  were  made  at  one 
time,  and  by  measurement.  '  'T  is 
no  bungling  soldier's  work,  my  mas- 
ters,' said  he,  '  't  is  oum.'  Then  the 
burgomaster  gave  judgment :  'The 
present  charge  is  not  proven  against 
thee ;  but,  an  thou  beest  not  guilty 


now,  thou  hast  been  at  other  times, 
witness  thine  ears.  Wlierclurc  I  send 
thee  to  prison  for  one  month,  and  to 
give  a  ilorin  towards  the  new  hall  of 
the  guilds  now  a  building,  and  to  bo 
wliipt  out  of  the  town,  and  pay  the 
hangman's  fee  for  the  same.'  And 
all  the  aldermen  approved,  and  my 
master  was  haled  to  prison  with  one 
look  of  anguish.  It  did  strike  my 
bosom.  I  tried  to  get  speech  of  liim, 
but  the  jailer  denied  me.  But  lin- 
gering near  the  jail  I  heard  a  whistle, 
and  there  was  Cul  de  Jatte  at  a  nar- 
row window  twenty  feet  from  earth. 
I  went  under,  and  he  asked  me  what 
made  I  there.  I  told  him  I  was  loath 
to  go  forward  and  not  bid  him  fare- 
well. He  seemed  quite  amazed  ;  but 
soon  his  suspicious  soul  got  the  bet- 
ter. That  was  not  all  mine  errand.  I 
told  him  not  all :  the  psaltery :  '  Well, 
Avhat  of  that  ? '  'T  was  not  mine,  but 
his  ;  I  would  pay  him  the  price  of  it. 
'  Tlien  throw  me  a  rix  dollar,'  said  he. 
I  counted  out  mj'  coins,  and  they 
came  to  a  rix  dollar  and  two  batzen, 
I  threw  him  up  his  money  in  three 
throws,  and  when  he  had  got  it  all 
he  said,  softly,  '  Bon  Bee.'  '  Master,' 
said  I.  Then  the  poor  rogue  was 
greatly  moved.  '  I  thought  ye  had 
been  mocking  me,'  said  he  ;  '  O  Bon 
Bee,  Bon  Bee,  if  I  had  found  the 
world  like  thee  at  starting,  I  liad  put 
my  wit  to  better  use,  and  I  had  not 
lain  here.'  Then  he  whimpered  out, 
'  I  gave  not  quite  a  rix  dollar  for  the 
jingler';  and  threw  me  back  that 
he  had  gone  to  cheat  me  of,  —  honest 
for  once,  and  over  late ;  and  so,  ^vith 
many  sighs,  bade  me  God -speed. 
Thus  did  my  master,  after  often  baf- 
fling men's  justice,  fall  by  their  in- 
justice; for  his  lost  ears  proved,  not 
his  guilt  only,  but  of  that  guilt  the 
bitter  punishment ;  so  the  account 
was  even ;  yet  they  for  his  chastise- 
ment did  chastise  him.  Natheless 
he  was  a  parlous  rogue.  Yet  lie  holp 
to  make  a  man  of  me.  Thanks  to 
his  good  wit  I  went  forward  richer  far 
with  my  psaltery  and  brush  than  with 
yon  as  good  as  stolen  purse ;  for  that 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


249 


must  have  run  dry  in  time,  like  a 
bif;  trough,  but  these  a  little  foun- 
tain." 

Richarl.  "  IIow  pregnant  liis  re- 
flections be ;  and  but  a  curly-pated 
lad  when  last  I  saw  him.  Asking 
your  pardon,  mistress.  Prithee,  read 
on." 

"  One  day  I  walked  alone,  and, 
sooth  to  say,  light-hearted,  for  mine 
honest  Denys  sweetened  the  air  on 
the  way ;  but  poor  Cul  de  Jatte  poi- 
soned it.  The  next  day,  passing  a 
grand  house,  out  came  on  prancing 
steeds  a  gentleman  in  brave  attire 
and  two  servants  ;  they  overtook  me. 
The  gentleman  badj  me  halt.  I 
laughed  in  my  sleeve  ;  for  a  few  b;it- 
zen  were  all  my  store.  He  bade  me 
doff  my  doublet  and  jerkin.  Then  I 
chuckled  no  more.  '  Betiiink  you, 
my  lord,'  said  I,  '  't  is  winter.  How 
may  a  jjoor  fellow  go  bare  and  live  1 ' 
So  he  told  me  I  shot  mine  arrow  wide 
of  his  thought ;  and  otf  with  his  own 
gay  jerkin,  richly  furred,  and  doublet 
to  match,  and  held  them  forth  to  me. 
Then  a  servant  let  me  know  it  was  a 
penance.  His  lordship  had  had  the 
ill  luck  to  slay  his  cousin  in  their 
cups.  Down  to  my  shoes  he  changed 
with  me  ;  and  set  me  on  a  horse  like 
a  popinjay,  and  fared  by  my  side  in 
my  worn  weeds,  with  my  psaltery  on 
his  back.  And  said  he  :  '  Now,  good 
youth,  thou  art  Count  Detstein  ;  and 
I,  late  count,  thy  servant.     Play  thy 

Eart  well,  and  help  me  save  my 
loodstained  soul !  Be  haughty  and 
choleric,  as  any  noble ;  and  I  will  be 
as  humble  as  I  may.'  1  said  I  would 
do  my  best  to  play  the  noble.  But 
what  shall  I  call  him  ?  He  bade  me 
call  him  naught  but  Servant,  That 
would  mortify  him  most,  he  wist. 
We  rode  on  a  long  way  in  silence ; 
for  I  was  meditating  this  strange 
chance,  that  from  a  beggar's  servant 
had  made  me  master  to  a  count,  and 
also  cudgelling  my  brains  bow  best  I 
might  play  the  master,  without  being 
run  through  the  body  all  at  one  time 
like  his  cousin.  For  1  mistrusted  sore 
my  spark's  humility  ;  your  Germaa 


nobles  being,  to  my  knowledge,  proud 
as  Lucifer,  and  choleric  as  fire.  As 
for  the  servants,  they  did  slyly  grin 
to  one  another  to  see  their  master  so 
humbled — " 

"  Ah  >  what  is  that  ?  " 

A  lump,  as  of  lead,  had  just  bounced 
against  the  door,  and  the  latch  was 
fumbled  with  unsuccessfully.  Another 
bounce,  and  the  door  swung  inwards 
with  Giles  arrayed  in  cloth  of  gold 
sticking  to  it  like  a  wasp.  He  land- 
ed on  the  floor  and  was  embraced; 
but,  on  learning  what  was  going  on, 
trumpeted  that  he  would  much  liever 
hear  of  Gerard  than  gossip. 

Sybrandt  pointed  to  a  diminutive 
chair. 

Giles  showed  his  sense  of  this  ci- 
vility by  tearing  the  said  Sybrandt  out 
of  a  very  big  one,  and  there  ensconced 
himself  gorgeous  and  glowing.  Sy- 
brandt had  to  wedge  himself  into  the 
one  which  was  too  small  for  the  mag- 
nificent dwarf's  soul,  and  Margaret 
resumed.  But  as  this  part  of  the  let- 
ter was  occupied  with  notices  of  places, 
all  which  my  reader  probably  knows, 
and,  if  not,  can  find  handled  at  large 
in  a  dozen  well-known  books,  from 
Munster  to  Murray,  I  skip  the  topog- 
raphy, and  hasten  to  that  part  where 
it  occurred  to  him  to  throw  his  letter 
into  a  journal.  The  personal  nar- 
rative that  intervened  may  be  thus 
condensed. 

He  s])oke  but  little  at  first  to  his 
new  companions,  but  listened  to  pick 
up  their  characters.  Neither  his  noble 
servant  nor  his  servants  could  read  or 
write ;  and,  as  he  often  made  entries 
in  his  tablets,  he  impressed  them  with 
some  awe.  One  of  his  entries  was 
"  Lo  pen  que  sont  les  homraes."  For 
he  found  the  surly  innkeepers  licked 
the  very  ground  before  him  now ;  nor 
did  a  sold  suspect  the  hosier's  son  in 
the  count's  feathers,  nor  the  count  in 
the  minstrel's  weeds.  This  seems  to 
have  surprised  him  ;  for  he  enlarged 
on  it  with  the  naivete  and  pomposity 
of  youth.  At  one  place,  being  hum- 
bly requested  to  present  the  inn  with 
,  his  armorial  bearings,  he  consented 


250 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


loftily ;  but  painted  them  himself,  to 
mine  host's  wonder,  who  thought  he 
lowered  himself  by  handling  brush. 
The  true  count  stood  grinning  by, 
and  held  the  paint-jjot,  while  the  sham 
count  painted  a  shield  with  three  red 
herrings  rampant  under  a  sort  of 
Maltese  cross  made  with  two  ell- 
measures.  At  first  his  plebeian  ser- 
vants were  insolent.  But,  this  com- 
ing to  the  notice  of  his  noble  one,  he 
forgot  what  he  was  doing  penance 
for,  and  drew  his  sword  to  cut  off 
their  ears,  heads  included.  But  Ge- 
/ard  interposed  and  saved  them,  and 
rebuked  the  count  severely.  And 
finally  they  all  understood  one  an- 
other, and  the  superior  mind  obtained 
i's  natural  influence.  He  played  the 
barbarous  noble  of  that  day  vilely. 
For  his  heart  would  not  let  him  be 
either  tyrannical  or  cold.  Here  were 
three  human  beings.  He  tried  to 
make  them  all  happier  than  he  was  ; 
held  them  ravished  with  stories  and 
gongs,  and  set  Ilerr  Penitent  &  Co. 
dancing  with  his  whistle  and  psaltery. 
For  his  own  convenience  he  made 
them  ride  and  tie,  and  thus  pushed 
rapidly  through  the  country,  travel- 
ling generally  fifteen  leagues  a  day. 

Diary. 

"  This  first  of  January  I  observed  a 
young  man  of  the  country  to  meet  a 
strange  maiden,  and  kissed  his  hand, 
And  then  held  it  out  to  her.  She  took 
it  with  a  smile,  and  lo  !  acquaintance 
made ;  and  babbled  like  old  friends. 
Greeting  so  pretty  and  delicate  I 
ne'er  did  see.  Yet  were  they  both  of 
the  baser  sort.  So  the  next  lass  I  saw 
a  coming,  I  said  to  my  servant  lord  : 
"  For  further  penance  bow  thy  pride, 
go  meet  yon  base-born  girl ;  kiss  thy 
homicidal  hand,  and  give  it  her,  and 
hold  her  in  discourse  as  best  ye  may." 
And  my  noble  ser\^ant  said,  humbly, 
"  I  shall  obey  my  lord."  And  we  drew 
rein  and  watched  while  he  went  for- 
ward, kissed  his  hand  and  held  it  out  to 
her.  Forthwith  she  took  it  smiling, 
and  was  most  affable  with  him,  and 
he  with  her.    Presently  came  up  a 


band  of  her  companions.  So  this 
time  I  bade  him  doft"  his  bonnet  to 
them,  as  though  they  were  empresses; 
and  he  did  so.  And  lo !  the  lasses 
drew  up  as  stiff  as  hedge-stakes,  and 
moved  not  nor  spake." 

Denys.  "  Aie  !  aie  !  aie  !  Pardon, 
the  company." 

"  This  surprised  me  none ;  for  so 
they  did  discountenance  poor  Denys. 
And  that  whole  day  I  wore  in  ex- 
perimenting these  German  lasses ; 
and  't  was  still  the  same.  An  ye 
doft'  bonnet  to  them  they  stiffen  into 
statues ;  distance  for  distance.  But 
accost  them  with  honest  freedom,  and 
with  that  customary,  and,  though 
rustical,  most  gracious  proffer  of  the 
kissed  hand,  and  they  withhold  nei- 
ther their  hands  in  turn  nor  their  ac- 
quaintance in  an  honest  way.  Seeing 
which  I  vexed  myself  that  Denys  was 
not  with  us  to  prattle  with  them  ;  he 
is  so  fond  of  women."  ("Arc  you 
fond  of  women,  Denys  ?  ")  And  the 
reader  opened  two  great  violet  eyes 
upon  him  with  gentle  surprise. 

Denys.  "  Ahem  !  He  says  so,  she- 
comrade.  By  Hannibal's  lielmet  'tis 
their  fault,  not  mine.  They  will  have 
such  soft  voices,  and  white  skins, 
and  sunny  hair,  and  dark  blue  eyes, 
and  —  " 

Margaret,  (reading  suddenly). 
"  Which  their  affability  I  put  to 
profit  thus.  I  asked  them  how  they 
made  shift  to  grow  roses  in  yule. 
For  know,  dear  Margaret,  that 
throughout  Germany  the  baser  sort  of 
lasses  wear  for  head-dress  naught  but 
a  'crantz,'  or  wreath  of  roses,  en- 
circling their  bare  hair,  as  laurel 
Cassar's  ;  and  though  of  the  worship- 
ful scorned,  yet  is  braver,  I  wist,  to 
your  eye  and  mine  which  painters  be, 
though  sorry  ones,  than  the  gorgeous, 
uncouth,  mechanical  head-gear  of  the 
time,  and  adorns,  not  hides,  her  hair, 
that  goodly  ornament  fitted  to  her 
head  by  craft  divine.  So  the  good 
lasses,  being  questioned  close,  did  let 
me  know  the  rosebuds  are  cut  in 
summer  and  laid  then  in  great  clay 
pots,   thus  ordered  :  —  first  bay-salt, 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


25i 


then  a  row  of  buds,  and  over  that 
row  bfiv-Siilt  sprinkled  ;  then  another 
'  row  of  buds  ])hieed  crosswise  ;  for 
they  say  it  is  death  to  the  buds  to 
touch  one  another;  and  so  on,  buds 
and  salt  in  layers.  Then  each  pot 
is  covered  and  soldered  tit;ht,  and 
kept  in  cool  cellar.  And  on  Satur- 
day night  the  master  of  the  house,  or 
mistress,  if  master  be  none,  opens  a 
pot,  and  doles  the  rosebuds  out  to 
every  female  in  the  liouse,  high  or 
low,  withouten  grudge  ,  then  solders 
it  up  again.  And  such  as  of  these 
buds  would  full-blown  roses  make 
put  them  in  warm  water  a  little 
epace,  or  else  in  the  stove,  and  then 
with  tiny  brush  and  soft,  wetted  in 
■Rhenish  wine,  do  coax  them  till  they 
ope  their  folds.  And  some  perfume 
them  with  rose-water.  For,  alack ! 
their  smell  it  is  fled  with  the  sum- 
mer ;  and  onely  their  fair  bodyes  lie 
withouten  soul,  in  tomb  of  clay, 
awaiting  resurrection. 

"  And  some  with  the  roses  and 
buds  mix  nutmegs  gilded,  but  not 
by  my  good-will ;  for  goltl,  brave  in 
itself,  check  by  jowl  with  roses,  is  but 
yellow  earth.  And  it  does  the  eye's 
heart  good  to  see  these  fair  lieads 
of  hair  come,  blooming  with  roses, 
over  snowy  roads,  and  by  snow-capt 
hedges,  setting  winter's  beauty  by  the 
side  of  summer's  glory.  For  what 
so  fair  as  winter's  lilies,  snow  yclept, 
and  what  so  brave  as  roses  1  And 
shouldst  have  had  a  picture  here,  but 
for  their  superstition.  Leaned  a  lass 
in  Sunday  garb,  cross  ankled,  against 
her  cottage  corner,  whose  low  roof 
was  snow-clad,  and  with  her  crantz 
did  seem  a  summer  flower  sprouting 
from  winter's  bosom.  I  drew  rein, 
and  out  pencil  and  brush  to  limn  her 
for  thee.  But  the  simpleton,  fearing 
the  evil  eye,  or  glamour,  claps  both 
hands  to  her  face  and  flies  panic- 
stricken.  But,  indeed,  they  are  more 
Buperstitious  than  the  Sevenbergen 
folk,  which  take  thy  father  for  a  ma- 
gician. Yet  softly,  sith  at  this  mo- 
ment I  profit  by  this  darkness  of  their 
icinds;  for  at  first,  sitting  down  to 


write  this  diary,  I  could  frame  nor 
thought  nor  word,  so  harried  and 
deaved  was  I  with  noise  of  mechani- 
cal persons,  and  hoarse  laughter  at 
dull  jests  of  one  of  these  party-col- 
ored '  fools,'  which  are  so  rife  in 
Germany.  But,  O  sorry  wit,  that  is 
driven  to  the  ])Oor  resource  of  pointed 
car-caps,  and  a  green  and  yellow 
body.  True  wit,  methinks,  is  of  the 
mind.  We  met  in  Burgundy  an  hon- 
est wench,  though  over  free  for  my 
palate,  a  chambermaid,  had  made 
havoc  of  all  these  zanies,  droll  by 
brute  force.  O  Digressor  !  Well, 
then  I,  to  1)0  rid  of  roaring  rusticalls 
and  mindless  jests,  put  my  finger  in 
a  glass  and  drew  on  the  table  a  great 
watery  circle  ;  whereat  the  rusticalls 
did  look  askant,  like  venison  at  a 
cat ;  and  in  that  circle  a  smaller  cir- 
cle. The  rusticalls  held  their  peace  ; 
and  beside  these  circles  cabalistical 
I  laid  down  on  the  table  solemnly 
yon  parchment  deed  I  had  out  ol' 
your  house.  The  rusticalls  held  their 
breath.  Then  did  I  look  as  glum  «.» 
might  be,  and  muttered  slowly  thuj  . 
'  Videamus — quamdiu  tu  fictus  m^l 
to  —  vosque  veri  stulti  —  audebitiri  — 
in  hac  aula  morari,  strcpitantes  it.; 
—  et  olentes  —  ut  dulcissimaj  ncqu3- 
am  miser  scribere.'  They  shook  like 
aspens,  and  stole  away  on  tiptoe  one 
by  one  at  first,  then  in  a  rush  and 
jostling,  and  left  me  alone  ;  and  most 
scared  of  all  was  the  fool ;  never 
earned  jester  fairer  his  ass's  ears. 
So  rubbed  I  their  foible,  who  first 
rubbed  mine ;  for  of  all  a  travel- 
ler's foes  I  dread  those  giants  twain, 
Sir  Noise  and  eke  Sir  Stench.  The 
saints  and  martyrs  forgive  my  pee- 
vishness. Thus  I  write  to  thee  in 
balmy  peace,  and  tell  thee  trivial 
things  scarce  worthy  ink,  also  how  I 
love  thee,  which  there  was  no  need  to 
tell,  for  well  thou  knowest  it.  And, 
O  dear  Margaret,  looking  on  their 
roses,  which  grew  in  summer,  but 
blew  in  winter,  I  see  the  picture  of 
our  true  affection  ;  born  it  was  in 
smiles  and  bliss,  but  soon  adversity 
beset  us  sore  with    many  a    bittel 


252 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


blast  Yet  our  love  hath  lost  no 
leaf,  thank  God,  but  blossoms  full 
and  fair  as  ever,  proof  against  frowns, 
and  jibes,  and  prison,  and  banish- 
ment, as  those  sweet  German  flowers 
a  blooming  in  winter's  snow. 

"  January  2.  —  My  servant,  the 
count,  finding  me  curious,  took  me  to 
the  stables  of  the  prince  that  rules 
this  part.  In  the  first  court  was  a 
horse-bath,  adorned  with  twenty-two 
pillars,  graven  with  the  prince's 
arms  ;  and  also  the  horse-leech's 
shop,  so  furnished  as  a  rich  apothe- 
cary might  envy.  The  stable  is  a 
fair  quadrangle,  whereof  three  sides 
filled  with  horses  of  all  nations.  Be- 
fore each  horse's  nose  was  a  glazed 
window,  with  a  green  curtain  to  be 
drawn  at  pleasure,  and  at  his  tail  a 
thick  wooden  pillar  with  a  brazen 
shield,  whence  by  turning  of  a  pipe 
he  is  watered,  and  serves  too  for  a 
cupboard  to  keej)  his  comb  and  rub- 
bing clothes.  Each  rack  was  iron, 
and  each  manger  shining  copper,  and 
each  nag  covered  with  a  scarlet  man- 
tle, and  above  him  his  bridle  and  sad- 
dle Ji'JDg,  ready  to  gallop  forth  in  a 
min'ite  ;  and  not  less  than  three  liun- 
drc(J  horses,  whereof  twelve  scoie  of 
forc/q:n  breed.  And  we  returned  to 
our  'T.n  full  of  admiration,  and  the 
two  varlets  said  sorrowfully,  '  Why 
were  '.ve  born  with  two  legs  ? '  And 
one  of  the  grooms,  that  was  civil  and 
had  of  me  trinkgeld,  stood  now  at 
his  cottage  door,  and  asked  us  in. 
There  we  found  his  wife  and  children 
of  all  ages,  from  five  to  eighteen,  and 
had  but  one  room  to  bide  and  sleep 
in,  a  thing  pestiferous  and  most  un- 
civil. Then  I  asked  my  servant, 
knew  he  this  prince '?  Ay,  did  he, 
and  had  often  drank  with  him  in  a 
m:u'ble  chamber  above  the  stable, 
wliere,  for  table,  was  a  curious  and 
artificial  rock,  and  the  drinking-ves- 
sels  hang  on  its  pinnacles,  and  at  the 
hottest  of  the  engagement  a  statue 
of  a  horseman  in  bronze  came  forth 
bearing  a  bowl  of  liquor,  and  he  that 
Bat  nearest  behooved  to  drain  it.  '  'T  is 
well,'  said  I :  '  now,  for  the  penance. 


whisper  thou  in  yon  prince's  ear,  thai 
God  hath  given  him  his  people  freely, 
and  not  sought  a  price  for  them  as  for 
horses.  And  pray  him  look  inside 
the  huts  at  his  horse-palace  door,  and 
bethink  himself  is  it  well  to  house  his 
horses  and  stable  his  folk.'  Said  he, 
'  'T  will  give  sore  offence.'  '  But,' 
said  I,  '  ye  must  do  it  discreetly,  and 
choose  your  time.'  So  he  promised. 
And  riding  on  we  heard  plaintive 
cries.  'Ahis,'  said  I,  'some  sore 
mischance  hath  befallen  some  poor 
soul ;  what  may  it  be '? '  And  we 
rode  up,  and  lo  !  it  was  a  wedding 
feast,  and  the  guests  were  playing  the 
business  of  drinking  sad  and  silent, 
but  ever  and  anon  cried  loud  and 
dolefully,  '  Sey  te  frolich  !  Be  merry.' 
''January  3.  —  Yesterday  between 
Nurnberg  and  Augsburg  we  parted 
company.  I  gave  my  lord,  late  ser- 
vant, back  his  brave  clothes  for 
mine,  but  his  horse  he  made  me 
keep,  and  five  gold  pieces,  and  said  he 
was  still  my  debtor,  his  penance  it 
had  been  slight  along  of  me,  but  prof- 
itable. But  his  best  word  was  this  : 
'  I  see  't  is  more  noble  to  be  loved 
than  feared.'  And  then  he  did  so 
praise  me  as  I  blush  to  put  on  paper; 
yet,  poor  fool,  would  fain  tliou  couldst 
hear  his  words,  but  from  some  other 
pen  than  mine.  And  the  sei-vants 
did  heartily  grasp  my  hand,  and  wish 
me  good  luck.  And  riding  apace,  yet 
could  I  not  reach  Augsburg  till  the 
gates  were  closed  ;  but  it  mattered 
little,  for  this  Augsburg  it  is  an  en- 
chanted city.  For  a  small  coin  one 
took  me  a  long  way  round  to  a  famous 
postern  called  der  Einlasse.  Here 
stood  two  guardians  like  statues.  To 
them  I  gave  my  name  and  business. 
They  nodded  me  leave  to  knock;  I 
knocked,  and  the  iron  gate  opened 
with  a  great  noise  and  hollow  rattling 
of  a  chain,  but  no  hand  seen  nor 
chain ;  but  he  who  drew  the  hidden 
chain  sits  a  butt's  length  from  the 
gate,  and  I  rode  in,  and  the  gate  closed 
with  a  clang  after  me.  I  found  my- 
self in  a  great  building  with  a  bri:lga 
at  my  feet.     This  I  rode  over,  m'i 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


253 


presently  came  to  a  porter's  lodsje,  l 
Nvhore  one  asked  me  again  my  name 
and  business,  tlieii  rang  a  beif,  and  a 
great  portcullis  that  barred  the  way  | 
began  to  rise,  drawn  by  a  wheel  over-  | 
lic;id,  and  no  hand  seen.  Behind  the  ' 
portcullis  was  a  thick,  oaken  door  i 
studded  with  steel.  It  opened  with- 1 
out  hand,  and  I  rode  into  a  hall 
as  dark  as  pitch.  Trembling  there 
awhile,  a  door  o])ened,  and  showed  nic  I 
a  smaller  hall  lighted.  I  rode  into  ' 
it :  a  tin  goblet  came  down  from  the  ' 
ceiling  by  a  little  chain  ;  I  put  two 
batzen  into  it,  and  it  went  up  again. 
Being  gone,  another  thick  door  creaked 
and  oj)ened,  and  I  rid  through.  It 
closed  on  me  with  a  tremendous  clang, 
and  behold  me  in  Augsburg  city.  I  lay 
at  an  inn  called  '  The  Three  Moors,' 
over  an  hundred  years  old  ;  and  this 
jnorning,  according  to  my  way  of 
viewing  towns  to  learn  their  compass 
and  shape,  I  mounted  the  highest 
tower  I  could  find,  and,  setting  my 
dial  at  my  foot,  surveyed  the  beautiful 
city  ;  whole  streets  of  palaces,  and 
churches  tiled  with  copper  burnished 
[like  gold  ;  and  the  house  fronts  gayly 
painted,  and  all  glazed,  and  the  glass 
so  clean  and  burnished  as  't  is  most 
resplendent  and  rare ;  and  I,  now  first 
seeing  a  great  citie,  did  crow  -with  de- 
light, and  like  cock  on  his  ladder,  and 
at  the  tower  foot  was  taken  into  cus- 
tody for  a  spy  ;  for,  whilst  I  watched 
the  city,  the  watchman  had  watched 
me.  The  burgomaster  received  mc 
courteously,  and  heard  my  story  ;  then 
rebuked  his  officers.  '  Could  ye  not 
question  him  yourselves,  or  read  in 
his  face  ?  This  is  to  make  our  city 
stink  in  stranger's  report.'  Then  he 
told  me  my  curiosity  was  of  a  com- 
mendable sort ;  and,  seeing  I  was  a 
craftsman  and  inquisitive,  bade  his 
clerk  take  me  among  the  guilds.  God 
bless  the  city  where  the  very  burgo- 
master is  cut  of  Solomon's  cloth  ! 

"  January  5.  —  Dear  Margaret,  it  is 
a  noble  city,  and  a  kind  mother  to 
arts.  Here  they  cut  in  wood  and 
ivory,  that  't  is  like  spiders'  work, 
ind  paint  on  glass,  and  sing  angelical 


harmonies.  Writing  of  books  ia  quite 
gone  by  :  here  be  six  printers.  Yet 
was  I  oftcred  a  bountiful  wage  to 
write  fairly  a  merchant's  accounts, 
one  Fugger,  a  grand  and  wealthy 
trader,  and  hath  store  of  sliips,  yet 
his  father  was  but  a  poo""  wei\vcr. 
But  here  in  commerce,  her  very  gar 
den,  men  swell  like  mushrooms 
And  he  bought  my  horse  of  me,  and 
abated  me  not  a  jot,  which  way  ot 
dealing  is  not  known  in  Holland. 
But,  O  Margaret,  the  workmen  of 
all  the  guilds  are  so  kind  and  brotherly 
to  one  another,  and  to  mc.  Here, 
methinks,  I  have  found  the  true  Ger- 
man mind,  loyal,  frank,  and  kindly, 
somewhat  choleric  \vithal,  but  naught 
revengeful.  Each  mechanic  wears  a 
sword.  Tiie  very  weavers  at  the  loom 
sit  girded  with  their  weapons,  and  all 
Germans  on  too  slight  occasion  draw 
them  and  fight ;  but  no  treachery  t 
challenge  first,  then  draw,  and  with 
the  edge  only,  mostly  the  face,  not 
with  Sir  Point ;  for  if  in  these  com- 
bats one  thrust  at  his  adversary  and 
hurt  him,  'tis  called  ein  schelemstucke, 
a  heinous  act ;  both  men  and  women 
turn  their  backs  on  him  ;  and  even 
the  judges  punish  thrusts  bitterly,  but 
pass  over  cuts.  Hence  in  Germany 
be  good  store  of  scarred  faces,  three 
in  five  at  least,  and  in  France  scarce 
more  than  one  in  three. 

"  But  in  arts  mechanical  no  citizens 
may  compare  with  these.  Fountains 
in  every  street  that  play  to  heaven, 
and  in  the  gardens  seeming  trees, 
which,  being  approached,  one  stand- 
ing afar  touches  a  spring,  and  every 
twig  shoots  water,  and  souses  the 
guests, to  their  host's  much  delectation. 
Big  culverins  of  war  they  cast  with  no 
more  ado  than  our  folk  horseshoes, 
and  have  done  this  fourscore  years. 
All  stuffs  they  weave,  and  linen  fine 
as  ours  at  home,  or  nearly,  which 
elsewhere  in  Europe  vainly  shall  you 
seek.  Sir  Printing  Press  —  sore  foe 
to  poor  Gerard,  but  to  other  humans 
beneficial  —  plieth  by  night  and  day, 
and  casteth  goodly  words  like  sower 
afield  ;  while  I,  poor  fool,  can  but  sow 


254 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


them  aa  I  saw  women  in  France  sow 
rye,  dribbling  it  in  the  furrow  grain 
by  grain.  And  of  tlieir  strange  me- 
chanical skill  take  two  examples. 
For  ending  of  exemplary  rogues  they 
have  a  figure  like  a  woman,  seven  feet 
high,  and  called  Jung  Fran  ;  but  lo  !  a 
spring  is  touched,  she  scizeth  the  poor 
wretch  with  her  iron  arms,  and,  open- 
ing herself,  hales  him  inside  her,  and 
there  pierces  him  through  and  through 
with  two  sore  lances.  Secondly,  in 
all  great  houses  the  spit  is  turned,  not 
by  a  scrubby  boy  but  by  smoke.  Ay, 
mayst  well  admire,  and  judge  me  a 
lying  knave.  These  cunning  Ger- 
mans do  set  in  the  chimney  a  little 
wuidmill,  and  the  smoke,  struggling 
to  wend  past,  turns  it,  and  from  the 
mill  a  wire  runs  through  the  wall  and 
turns  the  spit  on  wheels  ;  beholding 
which  I  dotted  my  bonnet  to  the  men 
of  Augsburg,  for  who  but  these  had 
ere  devised  to  bind  ye  so  dark  and 
subtle  a  knave  as  Sir  Smoke,  and  set 
him  to  roast  Dame  Pullet  "* 

"  This  day,  January  5,  with  three 
craftsmen  of  the  town,  I  painted  a 
pack  of  cards.  They  were  for  a  sen- 
ator in  a  hurry.  I  the  diamonds. 
My  queen  came  forth  with  eyes  like 
spring  violets,  hair  a  golden  brown, 
and  witching  smile.  My  fellow-crafts- 
men saw  her,  and  put  their  arms 
round  my  neck  and  hailed  me  master. 
O  noble  Germans  !  No  jealousy  of 
a  brother  workman  :  no  sour  looks  at 
a  stranger :  and  would  have  me  spend 
Sunday  with  them  after  matins  ;  and 
the  merchant  paid  me  so  richly  as  I 
was  ashamed  to  take  the  guerdon : 
and  I  to  my  inn,  and  tried  to  paint 
the  queen  of  diamonds  for  poor  Ge- 
rard ;  but  no,  she  would  not  come  like 
again.  Luck  will  not  be  bespoke.  0 
happy  rich  man  that  hath  got  her ! 
Fie  !  fie  !  Happy  Gerard,  that  shall 
have  herself  one  day,  and  keep  house 
with  her  at  Augsburg. 

"  Jannari)  8.  —  With  my  fellows, 
and  one  Veit  Stoss,  a  wood-carver, 
and  one  Hafnagel,  of  the  goldsmiths' 
guild,  and  their  wives  and  lasses,  to 
Hafuagel's  cousin,  a  senator  of  this 


free  city,  and  his  stupendous  win& 
vessel.  It  is  ribi)ed  like  a  ship,  and 
hath  been  eighteen  months  in  liand, 
and  finished  but  now,  and  holds  a 
hundred  and  fifty  hogsheads,  and 
standeth  not,  but  licth ;  yet  even  so 
ye  get  not  on  his  back  withouten  lad- 
ders two,  of  thirty  steps.  And  wc 
sat  about  the  miraculous  mass,  and 
drank  Khenish  from  it,  drawn  by  a 
little  artificial  pump,  and  the  lasses 
pinned  their  crantzes  to  it,  and  we 
danced  round  it,  and  the  senator 
danced  on  its  back,  but,  with  drink- 
ing of  so  many  garausscs,  lost  his 
footing  and  fell  ott",  glass  in  hand, 
and  broke  an  arm  and  a  leg  in  the 
midst  of  us.  So  scurvily  ended  our 
drinking  bout  for  this  time. 

"January  10.  —  This  day  started 
for  Venice  with  a  company  of  mer- 
chants, and  among  them  him  who 
had  desired  me  for  his  scrivener ;  and 
so  we  are  now  agreed,  I  to  write  at 
night  the  letters  he  shall  diet,  and 
other  matters,  he  to  feed  and  lodge 
me  on  the  road.  We  be  many  and 
armed,  and  soldiers  with  us  to  boot, 
so  fear  not  the  thieves  which  men  say 
lie  on  the  borders  of  Italy.  But  an' 
if  I  find  the  printing  press  at  Venice 
I  trow  I  shall  not  go  on  to  Rome,  for 
man  may  not  vie  with  iron. 

"  Imprimit  una  dies  quantum  non 
scribitur  anno.  And,  dearest,  some- 
thing tells  me  you  and  I  shall  end 
our  days  at  Augsburg,  whence  going, 
I  shall  leave  it  all  I  can,  —  my  bless- 
ing. 

"January  12.  —  My  master  affect- 
cth  me  much,  and  now  maketh  me 
sit  with  him  in  his  horse-litter.  A 
grave,  good  man,  of  all  respected,  but 
sad  for  the  loss  of  a  dear  daughter, 
and  loveth  my  psaltery  :  not  giddy- 
paced  ditties,  but  holy  harmonies,  such 
as  Cul  de  Jatte  mad(!  wry  mouths 
at.  So  many  men,  so  many  minds. 
But  cooped  in  horse-litter,  and  at 
night  writing  his  letters,  my  journal 
halteth. 

"January  14.  -'-When  not  attend- 
ing on  my  good  merchant,  I  consort 
with  such  of  our  company  as  ar« 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


255 


Italians,  for  't  is  to  Italy  I  wend, 
and  I  am  ill  seen  in  Italian  tonLCuc. 
A  conrteous  and  a  sulttle  people,  at 
meat  delieate  feeders,  and  cleanly; 
love  not  to  put  their  left  hand  in  the 
dish.  They  say  Venice  is  the  fjar- 
den  of  Lomhardy,  Lombardy  the 
garden  of  Italy,  Italy  of  the  world. 

"  Januari/ 16.  —  Stronp;  ways  and 
steep,  and  the  mountain  t;;irls  so  p:ird- 
ed  up,  as  from  their  armpits  to  their 
waist  is  but  a  handful.  Of  all  the 
parbs  I  yet  have  seen  the  most  un- 
lovely. 

"January  18. — In  the  midst  of 
life  we  arc  in  death.  0  dear  Mar- 
paret,  I  thought  I  had  lost  thee.  Here 
I  lie  in  pain  and  dole,  and  shall  write 
ye  that,  which  read  you  it  in  a  ro- 
mance ye  should  cry  '  most  improb- 
able ! '  And  so  still  wondering  that 
I  am  alive  to  write  it,  and  thanking 
for  it  God  and  the  saints,  this  is  what 
befell  thy  Gerard.  Yestreen  I  wea- 
ried of  being  shut  up  in  litter,  and  of 
the  mule's  slow  pace,  and  so  went 
forward  ;  and  being,  I  know  not  why, 
strangely  full  of  spirit  and  hope,  as  I 
have  heard  befall  some  men  when 
on  trouble's  brink,  seemed  to  tread 
on  air  and  soon  distanced  them  all. 
Presently  I  came  to  two  roads,  and 
took  the  larger  ;  I  should  have  taken 
the  smaller.  After  travelling  a  good 
half-hour  I  found  my  error  and  re- 
turned, and,  deeming  my  company 
had  long  passed  by,  pushed  bravely 
on,  but  I  could  not  overtake  them, 
and  small  wonder,  as  you  shall  hear. 
Then  I  was  anxious,  and  ran  ;  but 
bare  was  the  road  of  those  I  sought, 
and  night  came  do\m,  and  the  wild 
beasts  afoot,  and  I  bemoaned  my 
folly,  also  I  was  hungered.  The 
moon  rose  clear  and  bright  exceed- 
ingly, and  presently,  a  little  way  off 
the  road,  I  saw  a  tall  windmill. 
'  Come,'  said  I,  '  mayhap  the  miller 
will  take  ruth  on  me.'  Near  the  mill 
was  a  haystack,  and  scattered  about 
were  store  of  little  barrels,  but  lo, 
they  were  not  ilour-barrels,  but  tar- 
barrels,  one  or  two,  and  the  rest  of 
epirits  Brantvein  and   Schiedam ;  I 


knew  them  momently,  having  seen 
the  like  in  Holland.  I  knocked  at 
the  mill  door,  but  none  answered.  I 
lifted  the  latch,  and  the  door  opened 
inwards.  I  went  in,  and  gladly,  for 
the  night  was  tine  but  cold,  and  a 
rime  on  the  trees,  which  were  a  kind 
of  lofty  sycamores.  There  was  a 
stove,  but  black ;  I  lighted  it  with 
some  of  the  hay  and  wood,  for  there 
was  a  great  jjile  of  wood  outside ; 
and,  I  know  not  how,  I  went  to 
sleep.  Not  long  had  I  slept,  I  trow, 
when,  hearing  a  noise,  I  awoke,  and 
there  were  a  dozen  men  around  me, 
with  wild  faces,  and  long  black  hair, 
and  black  sparkling  eyes." 

Catherine.  "  O  my  poor  boy  !  those 
black-haired  ones  do  still  scare  me  to 
look  on." 

"  I  made  my  excuses  in  such  Ital- 
ian as  I  knew,  and  eking  out  by  signs. 
They  grinned.  '  I  had  lost  my  com- 
pany.' They  grinned.  I  was  an 
hungered.  Still  they  grinned,  and 
spoke  to  one  another  in  a  tongue  I 
knew  not.  At  last  one  gave  me  a 
piece  of  bread  and  a  tin  mug  of  wine, 
as  I  thought,  but  it  was  spirits  neat. 
I  made  a  wry  face,  and  asked  for 
water ;  then  these  wild  men  laughed 
a  horrible  laugh.  I  thought  to  fly, 
but,  looking  towards  the  door,  it  was 
bolted  ^vith  two  enormous  bolts  of 
iron,  and  now  first,  as  I  ate  my  bread, 
I  saw  it  was  all  guarded  too,  and 
ribbed  with  iron.  My  blood  curdled 
within  me,  and  yet  I  could  not  tell 
thee  why  ;  but  hadst  thou  seen  the 
faces,  wild,  stupid,  and  ruthless !  I 
mumbled  my  bread,  not  to  let  them 
see  I  feared  them  ;  but  0,  it  cost  me 
to  swallow  it  and  keep  it  in  me. 
Then  it  whirled  in  my  brain,  was 
there  no  way  to  escape  ?  Said  I, 
'  They  will  not  let  me  forth  by  the 
door  ;  these  be  smugglers  or  robbers.' 
So  I  feigned  drowsiness,  and  taking 
out  two  batzen  said,  '  Good  men,  for 
Our  Lady's  grace  let  me  lie  on  a  bed 
and  sleep,  for  I  am  faint  with  travel.' 
They  nodded  and  grinned  their  hor- 
rible grin,  and  bade  one  light  a  lan- 
tern and  lead  mc.     He  took  me  up 


256 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


a  windinp:  staircase,  up,  up,  and  I 
saw  no  windows,  but  the  wooden 
w^alls  were  pierced  like  a  barbican 
tower,  and  methinks  for  the  same 
purpose,  and  throu<,di  these  slits  I  pot 
glimpses  of  the  sky,  and  thought, 
'  Shall  I  e'er  see  thee  again  ? '  He 
took  me  to  the  very  top  of  the  mill, 
and  there  was  a  room  with  a  heap 
of  straw  in  one  corner,  and  many 
empty  barrels,  and  by  the  wall  a 
truckle-bed.  He  pointed  to  it,  and 
went  down  stairs  heavily,  taking  the 
light,  for  in  this  room  was  a  great 
window,  and  the  moon  came  in 
bright.  I  looked  out  to  see,  and  lo, 
it  was  so  high  that  even  the  mill  sails 
at  their  highest  came  not  up  to  my 
window  by  some  feet,  but  turned 
very  slow  and  stately  underneath,  for 
wind  there  was  scarce  a  breath  ;  and 
the  trees  seemed  silver  filigree  made 
by  angel  craftsmen.  My  hope  of 
flight  was  gone. 

"  But  now,  those  wild  faces  being 
out  of  sight,  I  smiled  at  my  fears  : 
what  an'  if  they  were  ill  men,  would 
it  profit  them  to  hurt  me  ?  Natheless, 
for  caution  against  surprise,  I  would 
put  the  bed  against  the  door.  I  went 
to  move  it,  but  could  not.  It  was 
free  at  the  head,  but  at  the  foot  fast 
clamped  with  iron  to  the  floor.  So  I 
flung  my  psaltery  on  the  bed,  but  for 
myself  made  a  layer  of  straw  at  the 
door,  so  as  none  could  open  on  me 
iniawares.  And  I  laid  my  sword 
ready  to  my  hand.  And  said  my 
prayers  for  thee  and  me,  and  turned 
to  sleep. 

"  Below  they  drank  and  made 
men-y.  And  hearing  this  gave  me 
confidence.  Said  I,  '  Out  of  sight, 
out  of  mind.  Another  hour  and  the 
good  Schiedam  will  make  them  for- 
get that  I  am  here.'  And  so  I  com- 
posed myself  to  sleep.  And  for  some 
time  could  not  for  the  boisterous 
mirth  below.  At  last  I  dropped  off. 
How  long  I  slept  I  knew  not ;  but  I 
woke  with  a  start ;  tlie  noise  had 
ceased  below,  and  the  sudden  silence 
woke  me.  And  scarce  was  I  awake, 
when  sudden    the  truckle-bed  was 


gone  with  a  loud  clang  all  but  the 
feet,  and  the  floor  yawned,  and  I 
heard  my  psaltery  faW  and  break  to 
atoms  deep,  deep,  below  the  very  floor 
of  the  mill.  It  had  fallen  into  a  well. 
And  so  had  I  done,  lying  where  it 
lay." 

Margaret  shuddered,  and  put  her 
face  in  her  hands.  But  speedily  re- 
sumed. 

"  I  lay  stupefied  at  first.  Then  hor- 
ror fell  on  me  and  I  rose,  but  stood 
rooted  there,  shaking  from  head  to 
foot.  At  last  I  found  myself  looking 
down  into  that  fearsome  gap,  and  my 
very  hair  did  bristle  as  I  peered.  And 
then,  I  remember,  I  turned  quite 
calm,  and  made  up  my  mind  to  die 
sword  in  hand.  For  I  saw  no  man 
must  know  this  their  bloody  secret 
and  live.  And  I  said,  'Poor  Mar- 
garet ! '  And  I  took  out  of  my 
bosom,  where  they  lie  ever,  our  mar- 
riage lines,  and  kissed  them  again 
and  again.  And  I  pinned  them  to 
my  shirt  again,  that  they  might  lie 
in  one  grave  with  me,  if  die  I  must. 
And  I  thought,  'All  our  love  and 
hopes  to  end  thus  ! '  " 

Eli.  "  Whisht  all !  Their  marriage 
lines  ?  Give  her  time  !  But  no  word. 
I  can  bear  no  chat.      My  poor  lad  !  " 

During  the  long  pause  that  ensued, 
Catherine  leaned  forward,  and  passed 
something  adroitly  from  her  own  lap 
under  her  daughter's  apron  who  sat 
next  her. 

"  Presently  thinking,  all  in  a  whirl, 
of  all  that  ever  passed  between  us, 
and  taking  leave  of  all  those  pleasant 
hours,  I  called  to  mind  how  one  day 
at  Sevenbergen  thou  taughtest  me  to 
make  a  rope  of  straw.  Mindest  thou  ? 
The  moment  memory  brought  that 
happy  day  back  to  me,  I  cried  out 
very  loud :  ' Margaret  gi^es  me  a 
chance  for  life  even  here.'  I  woke 
from  my  lethargy.  I  seized  on  the 
straw  and  twisted  it  eagerly,  as 
thou  didst  teach  me,  but  my  fin- 
gers trembled  and  delayed  the  task. 
Whiles  I  wrought  I  heard  a  door 
open    below.     That  was    a    terrible 


THE  CLOISTER   AND   THK   HEAUTH. 


257 


moment.  Even  as  I  twisted  my  rope 
I  ;rfit  to  the  window  and  looked  down 
at  the  great  arms  of  tlic  mill  cominjj; 
slowly  up,  then  passing,  then  turning 
less  slowly  down,  as  it  seemed  ;  and  I 
thought,  '  They  go  not  as  when  there 
is  wind  ;  yet,  slow  or  fast,  what  man 
rid  ever  on  sueh  steed  as  these,  and 
lived  ?  Yet,'  said  I,  '  better  trust  to 
them  and  God  than  to  ill  men.'  And 
I  prayed  to  him  whom  even  the  wind 
obeyeth. 

"  Dear  Margaret,  I  fastened  my 
rope,  and  let  myself  gently  down, 
and  fixed  my  eye  on  tliat  huge  arm 
of  the  mill  whieh  then  was  creeping 
up  to  me,  and  went  to  spring  on  to  it. 
But  my  heart  failed  me  at  the  pinch. 
And  methought  it  was  not  near  enow. 
And  it  passed  calm  and  awful  by.  I 
watched  for  another  ;  they  were  three. 
And  after  a  little  while  one  crept  up 
slower  than  the  rest  methought.  And 
I  with  my  foot  thrust  myself  in  good 
time  somewhat  out  from  the  wall,  and 
crying  aloud,  '  Margaret ! '  did  grip 
with  all  my  soul  the  woodwork  of  the 
sail,  ;md  that  moment  was  swimming 
in  the  air." 

Giles.    "  Well  done  !  well  done  !  " 

"  Motion  I  felt  little  ;  but  the  stars 
seemed  to  go  round  the  sky,  and  then 
the  grass  came  up  to  me  nearer  and 
nearer,  and  when  tlie  hoary  grass  was 
quite  close  I  was  sent  rolling  along  it 
as  if  hurled  from  a  catapult,  and  got 
up  breathless,  and  every  point  and 
tic  about  me  broken.  I  rose,  but  fell 
down  again  in  agony.  I  had  but 
one  leg  I  could  stand  on." 

Catherine.  "  Eh  !  dear  !  his  leg  is 
broke,  my  boy's  leg  is  broke  !  " 

"  And,  e'en  as  I  lay  groaning,  I 
heard  a  sound  like  thunder.  It  was 
the  assassins  running  up  the  stairs. 
The  crazy  old  mill  shook  under  them. 
They  must  have  found  I  had  not 
fallen  into  their  bloody  trap,  and  run- 
ning to  despatch  me.  Margaret,  I 
felt  no  fear,  for  now  I  had  no  hope. 
I  could  neither  run  nor  hide,  so  wild 
the  place,  so  bright  the  moon.  I  strug- 
gled up,  all  agony  and  revenge,  more 
like  some  wounded  wild  beast  than 


your  Gerard.  Leaning  on  my  sword- 
hilt  I  hobbled  round;  and  swift  as 
lightning,  or  vengeance,  I  heaped  a 
great  pile  of  their  hay  and  wood  at 
the  mill  door  ;  then  drove  my  dagger 
into  a  barrel  of  their  smuggled  spirits, 
and  flung  it  on  ;  then  out  with  my 
tinder  and  lighted  the  pile.  '  This 
will  bring  true  men  round  my  dead 
body,'  said  I.  '  Aha ! '  I  cried,  '  think 
you  I  '11  die  alone,  cowards,  assassins ! 
reckless  fiends  ! '  and  at  each  word  on 
went  a  barrel  pierced.  But,  O  Mar- 
garet !  the  fire,  fed  by  the  spirits,  sur- 
prised mc  ;  it  shot  up  and  singed  my 
very  hair,  it  went  roaring  up  the  side 
of  the  mill,  swift  as  falls  the  light- 
ning !  and  I  yelled  and  laughed  iu  my 
torture  and  despair,  and  pierced  more 
barrels,  and  the  very  tar-barrels,  and 
flung  them  on.  The  fire  roared  like  a 
lion  for  its  prey,  and  voices  answered 
it  inside  from  the  top  of  the  mill,  and 
the  feet  came  thundering  down,  and  I 
stood  as  near  that  awful  fire  as  I 
could,  with  uplifted  sword  to  slay  and 
be  slain.  The  bolt  was  drawn.  A 
tar-barrel  caught  fire.  The  door  was 
opened.  What  followed  ?  Not  the 
men  came  out,  but  the  fire  rushed  in 
at  them  like  a  living  death,  and  the 
first  I  thought  to  fight  with  was 
blackened  and  crumpled  on  the  floor 
like  a  leaf.  One  fearsome  yell,  and 
dumb  forever.  The  feet  ran  up  again, 
but  fewer.  I  heard  them  hack  with 
their  swords  a  little  way  up,  at  the 
mill's  wooden  sides  ;  but  they  had  no 
time  to  hew  their  way  out ;  the  fire 
and  reek  were  at  their  heels,  and  the 
smoke  burst  out  at  every  loop-hole, 
and  oozed  blue  in  the  moonlight 
through  each  crevice.  I  hobbled 
back,  racked  with  pain  and  fury. 
There  were  white  faces  up  at  my 
window.  They  saw  me.  They  cursed 
me.  I  cursed  them  back,  and  shook 
my  naked  sword.  '  Come  down  the 
road  I  came,'  I  cried.  '  But  ye  must 
come  one  by  one,  and,  as  ye  come,  ye 
die  ujKjn  my  sword.'  Some  cursed 
at  that,  but  others  wailed.  For  I  had 
them  all  at  deadly  vantage.  And 
doubtless  with  my  smoke-grimed  face 


258 


THE   CLOISTER   AND    THE   HEARTH. 


and  fiendish  raj^c  I  looked  a  demon. 
And  now  there  was  a  steady  roar 
inside  the  mill.  The  flame  was  going 
up  it  as  from  furnace  np  its  chimney. 
The  mill  caught  fire.  Fire  glimmered 
through  it.  Tongues  of  flame  dart- 
ed through  each  loop-hole,  and  shot 
sparks  and  fiery  flakes  into  the  night. 
One  of  the  assassins  leaped  on  to  the 
sail,  as  I  had  done.  In  his  hurry  he 
missed  his  grasp  and  fell  at  my  feet, 
and  bounded  from  the  hard  ground 
like  a  ball,  and  never  spoke  nor  moved 
again.  And  the  rest  screamed  like 
■women,  and,  with  their  despair,  came 
back  to  me  both  ruth  for  them  and 
hope  of  life  for  myself.  And  the  fire 
gnawed  through  the  mill  in  placen, 
and  shot  forth  showers  of  great  flat 
sparks  like  flakes  of  fiery  snow  ;  and 
the  sails  caught  fire  one  after  another ; 
and  I  became  a  man  again,  and  stiig- 
gercd  away  terror-stricken,  leaning 
on  my  sword,  from  the  sight  of  my 
revenge,  and,  with  great  bodily  pain, 
crawled  back  to  the  road.  And,  dear 
Margaret,  the  rimy  trees  were  all  now 
like  pyramids  of  golden  filigree,  and 
lace,  cobweb  fine,  in  the  red  firelight. 
O,  most  beautiful !  And  a  poor  wretch 
got  entangled  in  the  burning  sails, 
and  whirled  round  screaming,  and 
lost  hold  at  the  wrong  time,  and  hurled 
like  stone  from  mangonel  high  into 
the  air ;  then  a  dull  thump ;  it  was 
his  carcass  striking  the  earth.  The 
next  moment  there  was  a  loud  crash. 
The  mill  fell  in  on  its  destroyer,  and 
a  million  great  sparks  flew  up,  and 
the  sails  fell  over  the  burning  wreck, 
and  at  that  a  million  more  sparks 
flew  up,  and  the  ground  Avas  strewn 
witii  burning  wood  and  men.  I  prayed 
God  forgive  me,  and,  kneeling  with 
my  back  to  that  fiery  shambles,  I  saw 
lights  on  the  road  ;  a  welcome  sight. 
It  was  a  company  coming  towards  mc, 
and  scarce  t\vo  furlongs  off.  I  hobbled 
towards  them.  Ere  I  had  gone  far, 
I  heard  a  swift  step  behind  me.  I 
turned.  One  had  escaped  ;  how  es- 
caped, who  can  divine"?  His  sword 
shone  in  the  moonlight.  I  feared 
him,   methouglit    the    ghosts  of   all 


those  dead  sat  on  that  glittering 
glaive.  I  put  my  other  foot  to  tho 
ground,  maugre  the  anguish,  and  fled 
towards  the  torches,  moaning  with 
pain,  and  shouting  for  aid.  But  what 
could  I  do  1  He  gained  on  me.  Be- 
hooved me  turn  and  fight.  Dcnys 
had  taught  me  sword  play  in  sport.  I 
wheeled,  our  swords  clashed.  His 
clothes  they  smelled  all  singed.  I  cut 
swiftly  upward  with  supple  hand,  and 
his  dangled  bleeding  at  the  wrist, 
and  his  sword  fell :  it  tinkled  on  the 
ground.  I  raised  my  sword  to  hew 
him  should  he  stoop  for  't.  He  stood 
and  cursed  me.  He  drew  his  dagger 
with  his  left ;  I  opposed  my  point,  and 
dared  him  with  my  eye  to  close.  A 
great  shout  arose  behind  me  from  true 
men's  throats.  He  started.  He  spat 
at  me  in  his  rage,  then  gnashed  his 
teeth  and  fled,  blaspheming.  I  turned, 
and  saw  torches  close  at  hand.  Lo, 
they  fell  to  dancing  up  and  down  me- 
thought,  and  the  next  —  moment  •■- 
all  —  was  —  dark.     I  had  —  ah !  " 

Catherine.  "Here,  help!  wuier' 
Stand  aloof,  you  that  be  men  !  " 

Margaret  had  fain  tod  away. 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

Whex  she  recovered,  her  head  vras 
on  Catherine's  arm,  and  the  honest 
half  of  the  family  she  had  invaded 
like  a  foe  stood  round  her  uttering 
rough  homely  words  of  encourage- 
ment, especially  Giles,  who  roared  at 
her  that  she  was  not  to  take  on  like 
that.  "  Gerard  was  alive  and  well,  or 
he  could  not  have  writ  this  letter,  the 
biggest  mankind  had  seen  as  yet,  and, 
as  he  thought,  the  beautifuUest,  and 
most  moving,  and  smallest  writ." 

"  Ay,  good  Master  Giles,"  sighed 
Margaret, feebly,  "he  was  alive.  But 
how  know  I  what  hath  since  befallen 
him  "?  O,  why  left  he  Holland  to  go 
amongst  strangers  fierce  as  lions  ? 
And  why  did  I  not  drive  him  from 
mc  sooner   than  part  him  from  his 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


259 


own  fli'sh  and  blood  ?  Forgive  me, 
j-oii  tliat  are  his  mother  !  " 

And  she  gently  removed  Catherine's 
arm,  and  made  a  feeble  attempt  to 
slide  otf  tlie  chair  on  to  her  knees, 
which,  after  a  brief  struggle  with  su- 
jjerior  force,  ended  in  her  finding 
herself  on  Catherine's  bosom.  Then 
Margaret  held  out  the  letter  to  Eli, 
and  said  faintly  but  sweetly,  "  I  will 
trust  it  from  my  hand  now.  In  sooth, 
I  am  little  tit  to  read  anymore  —  and 
—  and  loath  to  leave  my  comfort " : 
and  siic  wreathed  her  other  arm  round 
Catherine's  neck. 

"  Read  thou,  Richart,"  said  Eli ; 
"  thine  eyes  be  younger  than  mine." 

Richart  took  the  letter.  "  Well," 
said  he,  "  such  writing  saw  I  never. 
A  Avriteth  with  a  needle's  point ;  and 
clear  to  boot.  Why  is  lie  not  in  my 
counting-house  at  Amsterdam  instead 
of  vagaboning  it  out  j-onder  ?  " 

"  When  I  came  to  myself  I  was 
seated  in  the  litter,  and  my  good  mer- 
chant holding  of  my  hand.  I  bab- 
bled I  know  not  what,  and  then  shud- 
dered awhile  in  silence.  He  put  a 
horn  of  wine  to  my  lips." 

Cathcrinf.  "Bless  him !  bless  him  ! " 

Eli.    "Whist." 

"  And  I  told  him  what  had  befollen. 
He  would  see  my  leg.  It  was  sjjrained 
sore,  and  swelled  at  the  ankle ;  and 
all  my  points  were  broken,  as  I  could 
scarce  keep  up  my  hose ;  and  I  said, 
"  Sir,  I  shall  be  but  a  burden  to  yon, 
I  doubt,  and  can  make  you  no  har- 
mony now ;  my  poor  psaltery,  it  is 
broken  "  ;  and  I  did  grieve  over  my 
broken  music,  companion  of  so  many 
weary  leagues.  But  he  patted  me  on 
the  check,  and  bade  me  not  fret ;  also 
he  did  put  up  my  leg  on  a  pillow,  and 
tended  mc  like  a  kind  father. 

"  Januanj  14  — I  sit  all  day  in  the 
litter,  for  we  are  pushing  forward  with 
haste,  and  at  night  the  good  kind 
merchant  sendctli  me  to  bed,  and  will 
not  let  mc  work.  Strange  !  whene'er 
I  fall  in  with  men  like  fiends,  then  the 
next  moment  God  still  sendeth  me 
some  good  man  or  woman,  lest  I 
should  turn  away  from  humankind.  | 


O  Margaret !  how  strangely  mixed 
thej  be,  and  how  old  I  am  by  what  I 
was  three  months  agone  !  And  lo  ! 
if  good  Master  Fugger  hath  not  been 
and  bought  me  a  psaltery." 

Catherine.  "  Eli,  my  man,  an  yon 
merchant  comes  our  way,  let  us  buy 
a  hundred  ells  of  cloth  of  him,  and 
not  higgle." 

Eli.  "  That  will  I,  take  your  oath 
on  't !  " 

While  Richart  prepared  to  read, 
Kate  looked  at  her  mother,  and  with 
a  faint  blush  drew  out  the  piece  of 
work  from  under  her  apron,  and 
sewed,  Avith  head  depressed  a  little 
more  than  necessary.  On  this  her 
mother  drew  a  piece  of  work  out  of 
her  pocket,  and  sewed  too,  while 
Richart  read.  Both  the  specimens 
these  sweet  surreptitious  creatures 
now  first  exposed  to  observation  were 
babies'  caps,  and  more  than  half  fin- 
ished, which  told  a  tale.  Horror  I 
they  were  like  little  monks'  cowls  in 
shape  and  delicacy. 

"  Januari/  12.  — Laid  up  in  the  lit- 
ter, and  as  good  as  blind,  but,  halting 
to  bait,  Lombardy  plains  burst  on  me. 
O  Margaret !  a  land  flowing  with 
milk  and  honey ;  all  sloping  plains, 
goodly  rivers,  jocund  meadows,  de- 
lectable orchards,  and  blooming  gar- 
dens ;  and,  though  winter,  looks 
warmer  than  poor  beloved  Holland  at 
midsummer,  and  makes  the  wander- 
er's face  to  shine,  and  his  heart  to 
leap  for  joy  to  sec  earth  so  kind  and 
smiling.  Here  be  vines,  cedars,  ol- 
ives, and  cattle  plenty,  but  three 
goats  to  a  slieep.  The  draught-oxen 
wear  white  linen  on  their  necks,  and, 
standing  by  dark  green  olive-trees 
each  one  is  a  picture ;  and  the 
folk,  especially  women,  wear  delicate 
strawen  hats  with  flowers  and  leaves 
fairly  imitated  in  silk,  with  silver 
mixed.  This  day  we  crossed  a  river 
j)rettily  in  a  chained  ferry-boat.  On 
either  bank  was  a  windlass,  and  a 
single  man  by  turning  of  it  drew  our 
whole  company  to  his  shore,  where« 
at  I  did  admire,  being  a  stranger. 
Passed  over  with  us  some  countrj 


260 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEAKTIl. 


folk.  And,  an  old  woman  looking:  at 
a  young  wench,  she  did  hide  her  face 
with  her  hand,  and  held  lier  crucifix 
out  like  knight  his  sword  in  tourney, 
dreading  the  evil  eye. 

"  January  15.  —  Safe  at  Venice.   A 

Elace  whose  strange  and  passing 
eauty  is  well  known  to  thee  by  re- 
port of  our  mariners.  Dost  mind, 
too,  how  Peter  would  oft  fill  our  ears 
withal,  we  handed  beneath  the  table, 
and  he  still  discoursing  of  this  sea- 
enthroned  and  peerless  citie,  in  shape 
a  bow,  and  its  great  canal  and  palaces 
on  piles,  and  its  wateiy  ways  plied  by 
scores  of  gilded  boats  ;  and  that  mar- 
ket-place of  nations,  orbis,  non  urbis, 
forum,  St.  Mark  his  place ;  and  his 
statue  with  the  peerless  jewels  in  his 
eyes,  and  the  lion  at  his  gate.  But  I, 
lying  at  my  window  in  pain,  may  see 
none  of  these  beauties  as  yet,  but 
only  a  street  fairly  paved,  which  is 
dull,  and  houses  with  oiled  paper  and 
linen,  in  lieu  of  glass,  which  is  rude, 
and  the  passcrs-l)y,  their  habits  and 
their  gestures,  wherein  they  are  su- 
perfluous. Therefore,  not  to  miss  my 
daily  comfort  of  whispering  to  thee, 
I  will  e'en  turn  mine  eyes  inward, 
and  bind  my  sheaves  of  wisdom 
reaped  by  travel.  For  I  love  thee  so, 
that  no  treasure  pleases  me  not  shared 
witli  thee ;  and  what  treasure  so  good 
and  enduring  as  knowledge?  This 
then  have  I,  Sir  Footsore,  learned, 
that  each  nation  hath  its  proper  wis- 
dom, and  its  proper  folly ;  and  me- 
thinks,  could  a  great  king,  or  duke, 
tramp  like  me,  and  see  with  his  own 
eyes,  he  might  pick  the  flowers  and 
eschew  the  weeds  of  nations,  and  go 
home  and  set  his  o^vn  folk  on  Wis- 
dom's hill.  The  Germans  in  the 
north  were  churlish,  but  frank  and 
honest ;  in  the  south,  kindly  and 
honest  too.  Their  general  blot  is 
drunkenness,  the  which  they  carry 
even  to  mislike  and  contempt  of  sober 
men.  They  say  commonly, '  Kanstu 
niecht  sauffen  und  fresscn  so  kanstu 
kienem  hern  wol  dienen.'  In  England 
the  vulgar  sort  drink  as  deep,  but  the 


worshipful  hold  excess  in  this  a  re- 
proach, and  drink  a  health  or  two  for 
courtesy,  not  gluttony,  aiul  still  sugar 
the  wine.  In  their  cups  tlie  Germans 
use  little  mirth,  or  discourse,  but  ply 
the  business  sadly,  crying,  '  Scyte  fro- 
lich  !  '  The  best  of  their  drunken  sport 
is  '  Kurlemurlehuft",'  a  way  of  drink- 
ing with  touching  deftly  of  the  glass 
the  beard,  the  table,  in  due  turn,  in- 
termixed with  whistlings  and  snap- 
pings  of  the  finger,  so  curiously  or- 
dered as  'tis  a  labor  of  Hercules,  but 
to  the  beholder  right  j)leasant  and 
mirthful.  Their  topers,  by  advice  of 
German  leeches,  sleep  with  pebbles  in 
their  mouths.  For,  as  of  a  boiling  pot 
the  lid  must  be  set  ajar,  so  with  these 
fleshly  wine-pots,  to  vent  the  heat  of 
their  inward  parts  ;  spite  of  which 
many  die  suddenly  from  drink  ;  but 
't  is  a  matter  of  religion  to  slur  it, 
and  gloze  it,  and  charge  some  inno- 
cent disease  therewith.  Yet  't  is 
more  a  custom  than  very  nature,  for 
their  women  come  among  the  tip- 
plers, and  do  but  stand  a  moment, 
and,  as  it  were,  kiss  the  wine-cup ; 
and  are  indeed  most  temperate  in  eat- 
ing and  drinking,  and,  of  all  women, 
modest  and  virtuous,  and  true  spouses 
and  friends  to  their  mates  ;  far  be- 
fore our  Holland  lasses,  that,  being 
maids,  put  the  question  to  the  men, 
and,  being  wived,  do  lord  it  over 
them.  Why,  there  is  a  wife  in  Ter- 
gou,  not  fiir  from  our  door.  One 
came  to  the  house  and  sought  her 
man.  Says  she,  '  You  '11  not  find 
him ;  he  asked  my  leave  to  go  abroad 
this  afternoon,  and  I  did  give  it 
him.'" 

Catherine.  "  'T  is  sooth  !  't  is  sooth ! 
T  was  Beck  Hulse,  Jonah's  wife. 
This  comes  of  a  woman  wedding  a 
boy." 

"  In  the  south,  where  wine  is,  the 
gentry  drink  themselves  bare ;  but 
not  in  the  north ;  for  with  beer  a 
noble  shall  sooner  burst  his  body  than 
melt  his  lands.  They  are  quarrel- 
some, but  't  is  the  liquor,  not  tho 
mind ;  for  they  are  none  revengeful. 
And  when  thej  have  made  a  bad  bar 


THE   CLOISTER    AND    THE   HEARTH. 


261 


gain  drunk,  they  stand  to  it  sober. 
They  licep  their  windows  bright ;  and 
judge  a  man  by  his  clothes.  What- 
ever fruit,  or  grain,  or  herb,  grows  by 
the  roadside,  gather  and  cat.  The 
o\vner,  seeing  you,  shall  say, '  Art  wel- 
come, honest  man.'  But  an  ye  pluck 
a  wayside  gra])e,  your  very  life  is  in 
jeopardy.  'T  is  eating  of  that  Heaven 
gave  to  be  drunken.  The  French  arc 
much  fairer-spoken,  and  not  nigli  so 
true-hearted.  Sweet  words  cost  them 
naught.  They  call  it  '  payer  en 
blanche.'  " 

Denys.  "  Lcs  coquins  !  ha,  ha  !  " 

"  Natheless,  courtesy  is  in  their 
hearts,  ay,  in  their  very  blood.  They 
say  commonly,  '  Give  yourself  the 
trouble  of  sitting  down.'  And  such 
straws  of  speech  show  how  blows  the 
wind.  Also,  at  a  public  show,  if  you 
would  but  leave  your  scat,  yet  not 
lose  it,  tie  but  your  napkin  round  the 
bench  and  no  French  man  or  woman 
will  sit  here,  but  rather  keep  the 
place  for  you." 

Catherine.  "  Gramcrcy  !  that  is 
manners.     France  for  me  !  " 

Penys  rose  and  placed  his  hand 
gracefully  to  his  breastplate. 

"  Natheless,  they  say  things  in  sport 
which  are  not  courteous,  but  shocking. 
Le  diable  t'cmporte  !  Allcz  an  diable  ! 
and  so  forth.  But  I  trow  they  mean 
not  such  dreadful  wishes  ;  custom  be- 
like. Moderate  in  drinking,  and  mix 
water  with  their  wine,  and  sing  and 
dance  over  their  cups,  and  are  then 
enchanting  company.  They  arc  cu- 
rious not  to  drink  in  another  man's 
cup.  In  war  the  English  gain  the 
better  of  them  in  the  tield,  but  tlic 
French  are  their  masters  in  attack  and 
defence  of  cities;  Avitness  Orleans, 
where  they  besieged  their  besiegers, 
and  hashed  them  sore  with  their 
double  and  treble  culverins ;  and 
many  other  sieges  in  this  our  cen- 
tury. More  than  all  nations  they 
flatter  their  women,  and  despise  them. 
No  She  may  be  their  sovereign  ruler. 
Also,  they  often  hang  their  female 
malefactors,  instead  of  drowning 
them  decently,  as  other  nations  use. 


The  furniture  in  their  inns  is  walnut, 
in  Germany  only  deal.  French  win- 
dows are  ill.  The  lower  half  is  of 
wood,  and  opens  ;  the  upper  half  is 
of  glass,  but  fixed,  so  that  the  ser- 
vant cannot  come  at  it  to  clean  it. 
The  German  windows  are  all  glass, 
and  movable,  and  shine  far  and  near 
like  diamonds.  In  France  many 
mean  liouscs  are  not  glazed  at  all. 
Once  I  saw  a  Frenchman  pass  a 
church  without  unbonneting.  Tins  I 
ne'er  witnessed  in  Holland,  Germany, 
or  Italy.  At  many  inns  they  show  the 
traveller  his  sheets  to  give  him  assur- 
ance they  are  clean,  and  warm  tlicm  at 
the  fire  before  liim,  —  a  laudable  cus- 
tom. They  receive  him  kindly,  and 
like  a  guest ;  they  mostly  cheat  him, 
and  whiles  cut  his  throat.  They 
plead  in  excuse  hard  and  tyrannous 
laws.  And  true  it  is  their  law  thrust- 
eth  its  nose  into  every  platter,  and  its 
finger  into  every  pie.  In  France  wor' 
shipful  men  wear  their  hats  and  their 
furs  in-doors,  and  go  abroad  lighter 
clad.  In  Germany  they  don  hat  and 
furred  cloak  to  go  abroad,  but  sit 
bareheaded  and  light  clad  round  the 
stove. 

"  The  French  intermix  not  the  men 
and  women  folk  in  assemblies,  as  we 
Hollanders  use.  Round  their  preach- 
ers the  women  sit  on  their  heels  in 
rows,  and  the  men  stand  behind  them. 
Their  harvests  are  rye,  and  flax,  and 
wine.  Three  mules  shall  you  see  to 
one  horse,  and  whole  flocks  of  sheep 
as  black  as  coal. 

"  In  Germany  the  snails  he  red.  I 
lie  not.  The  French  bny  minstrelsy, 
but  breed  jests,  and  make  their  o-^vn 
mirth.  The  Germans  foster  their  set 
fools  with  ear-caps,  which  move  them 
to  laughter  by  simulating  madness, 
a  calamity  that  asks  pity,  not  laugh- 
ter. In  this  particular  I  deem  that 
lighter  nation  wiser  than  th*  graver 
German.  What  sayest  thou  i  Alas  ! 
canst  not  answer  me  now. 

"  In  Germany  the  petty  laws  are 
wondrous  wise  and  just ;  those 
against  criminals,  bloody.  In  France, 
bloodier  still,  and    executed  a  trifle 


262 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


more  cruelly  there.  Here  the  wheel 
is  common,  and  the  fiery  stake  ;  and 
under  this  kinjj  they  drown  men  by 
the  score  in  Paris  river,  Seine  yclept. 
But  the  English  are  as  peremptory  in 
hanging  and  drowiiing  for  a  light 
fault ;  so  travellers  report.  Finally, 
a  true-hearted  Frenchman,  when  ye 
chance  on  one,  is  a  man  as  near  per- 
fect as  earth  affords ;  and  such  a 
man  is  my  Denys,  spite  of  his  foul 
mouth." 

Denys.  "  My  foul  mouth  !  Is  that 
so  writ,  Master  Richart  ?  " 

Ric.hart.    "  Ay,  in  sooth  ;  sec  else." 

Denys  (inspecting  ihe  letter  grave- 
ly).   "  I  read  not  the  letter  so." 

Richart.    "  How  then  ?  " 

Denys.  "  Humph  !  ahem  !  why,  just 
the  contrary."  He  added,  "  'T  is  kittle 
work  perusing  of  these  black  scratches 
men  are  agreed  to  take  for  words. 
And  I  trow  't  is  still  by  guess  you 
clerks  do  go,  worthy  sir.  My  foul 
mouth  ■?  This  is  the  first  time  e'er  I 
heard  on  't.     Eh,  mesdames  ?  " 

But  the  females  did  not  seize  the 
opportunity  he  gave  them  and  burst 
into  a  loud  and  general  disclaimer. 
Margaret  blushed  and  said  nothing  ; 
the  other  two  bent  silently  over  their 
work  with  something  very  like  a  sly 
smile.  Denys  inspected  their  counte- 
nances long  and  carefully ;  and  the 
perusal  was  so  satisfactory,  that  he 
turned  with  a  tone  of  injured,  but 
patient  innocence,  and  bade  Richart 
read  on. 

"  The  Italians  are  a  polished  and 
subtle  people.  They  judge  a  man, 
not  by  his  habits,  but  his  speech  and 
gestures.  Here  Sir  Chough  may  by 
no  means  pass  for  falcon  gentle,  as 
did  I  in  Germany,  pranked  in  my 
noble  servant's  feathers.  Wisest  of  all 
nations  in  their  singular  temperance 
of  food  and  drink :  most  foolish  of 
all  to  search  strangers  coming  into 
their  borders,  and  stay  them  from 
bringing  much  money  in.  They 
should  rather  invite  it,  and,  like 
other  nations,  let  the  traveller  from 
taking  of  it  out.  Also,  here  in 
Venice   the  dames  turn  their  black 


hair  yellow  by  the  sun  and  art,  to  be 
wiser  than  Him  who  made  them.  Ye 
enter  no  Italian  town  without  a  bill 
of  health,  though  now  is  no  plague 
in  Europe.  This  peevishness  is  fof 
extortion's  sake.  The  innkeepers 
cringe  and  fawn  and  cheat,  and,  in 
country  places,  murder  you.  Yet 
will  they  give  you  clean  sheets  by 
paying  therefor.  Delicate  in  eating, 
and  abhor  from  putting  their  hand  in 
the  plate ;  sooner  will  they  apply  a 
crust  or  what  not.  They  do  even  tell 
of  a  cardinal  at  Rome  which  armeth 
his  guest's  left  hand  with  a  little  bi- 
furcal  dagger  to  hold  the  meat,  while 
his  knife  cuttcth  it.  But  methinks 
this,  too,  is  to  be  wiser  than  Him 
who  made  the  hand  so  supple  and 
prehensile." 

Eli.  "  I  am  of  vour  mind,  my 
lad." 

"  They  are  sore  troubled  with  the 
itch  ;  and  ointment  for  it,  unguento 
per  la  rogna,  is  cried  at  every  corner 
of  Venice.  From  this  my  window  I 
saw  an  urchin  sell  it  to  three  several 
dames  in  silken  trains,  and  to  two 
velvet  knights." 

Catherine.  Italy,  my  lass,  I  rede  ye 
wash  your  body  i'  the  tub  o'  Sun- 
days ;  and  then  ye  can  put  your  hand 
i'  the  plate  o'  Thursday  withouten 
offence." 

"  Their  bread  is  lovely  white. 
Their  meats  they  spoil  with  sprin 
kling  cheese  over  them  ;  0  pen-ersity ! 
Their  salt  is  black  ;  without  a  lie.  In 
commerce  these  Venetians  are  mas- 
ters of  the  earth  and  sea,  and  govern 
their  territories  wisely.  Only  one 
flaw  I  find  ;  the  same  I  once  heard  a 
learned  friar  cast  up  against  Plato 
his  republic  ;  to  wit,  that  here  women 
are  encouraged  to  venal  frailty,  and 
to  pay  a  tax  to  the  State,  which,  not 
content  wth  silk  and  spice  and  other 
rich  and  honest  freights,  good  store, 
must  trade  in  sin.  Twenty  thousand 
of  these  Jezebels  there  be  in  Venice 
and  Candia,  and  about,  pampered  and 
honored  for  bringing  strangers  to  the 
city,  and  many  live  in  princely  pal- 
aces of  their  own.     But  herein   mer 


THE  CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


263 


thinks  the  politic  signers  of  Venice 
forget  what  King  David  saitli,  '  Ex- 
cept the  Lord  keep  the  citic,  tlie 
watchman  waketh  but  in  vain.' 
Also,  in  religion,  they  hang  their 
cloth  according  to  the  wind,  siding 
now  with  the  Pope,  now  witli  the 
Turk,  but  ay  with  tlie  god  of  traders, 
mammon  hight.  Shall  flower  so  can- 
kered bloom  to  the  Avorld's  end  ?  But, 
since  I  speak  of  flowers,  this  none 
may  deny  them,  that  they  are  most 
cunning  in  making  roses  and  gilly- 
flowers to  blow  unseasonably.  In 
summer  they  nip  certain  of  the  bud- 
ding roses  and  water  them  not.  Then 
in  winter  they  dig  round  these  dis- 
.■•.ouraged  plants,  and  put  in  cloves ; 
and  so  with  great  art  rear  sweet- 
Gcented  roses,  and  bring  them  to  mar- 
ket in  January.  And  did  first  learn 
this  art  of  a  cow.  Buds  she  grazed 
in  summer,  and  they  sprouted  at 
yule.  Women  have  sat  in  the  doc- 
tors' chairs  at  their  colleges.  But 
slic  that  sat  in  St.  Peter's  was  a  Ger- 
man. Italy,  too,  for  artful  fountains 
and  figures  that  move  by  water  and 
enact  life.  And  next  for  fountains  is 
Augsburg,  where  they  harness  the 
foul  knave  Smoke  to  good  Sir  Spit, 
and  he  tumeth  stout  Master  Roast. 
But  lest  any  one  place  should  vaunt, 
two  towns  there  be  in  Europe,  which, 
scorning  giddy  fountains,  bring  water 
tame  into  pipes  to  every  burgher's 
door,  and  he  filleth  his  vessels  with 
but  turning  of  cock.  One  is  Lon- 
don, so  watered  this  many  a  year  by 
pipes  of  a  league  from  Paddington,  a 
neighboring  city  ;  and  the  other  is 
the  fair  town  of  Lubeck.  Also  the 
fierce  English  are  reported  to  me  wise 
in  that  they  will  not  share  their  lands 
and  flocks  with  wolves,  but  have  fair- 
ly driven  those  marauders  into  their 
mountains.  But  neither  in  France, 
nor  Germany,  nor  Italy,  is  a  way- 
farer's life  safe  from  the  vagabones 
after  sundown.  I  can  hear  of  no 
glazed  house  in  all  Venice,  but  only 
oiled  linen  and  paper ;  and,  behind 
these  barbarian  eyelets,  a  wooden 
jalousie.  Their  name  for  a  cowardlv 
12 


assassin  is  '  a  brave  man,'  and  for  an 
harlot,  '  a  courteous  jjcrson,'  which  is 
as  much  as  to  say  that  a  woman's 
worst  vice,  and  a  man's  worst  vice, 
are  virtues.  But  I  pray  God  for  little 
Holland  that  there  an  assassin  may 
be  yclept  an  assassin,  and  an  harlot  an 
harlot,  till  doomsday  ;  and  then  gloze 
foul  faults  with  silken  names  who 
can !  " 

Eli  (With  a  sigh).  "He  should 
have  been  a  priest,  saving  your  pres- 
ence, my  poor  lass." 

"Go  to,  peevish  writer;  art  tied 
smarting  by  the  leg,  and  may  not  see 
the  beauties  of  Venice;  so  thy  pen 
kicketh  all  around  like  a  wicked 
mule. 

"  January  16.  —  Sweetheart,  I  must 
be  brief  and  tell  thee  but  a  part  of  that 
I  have  seen,  for  this  day  my  jour- 
nal ends.  To-night  it  sail^  for  thee, 
and  I  unhappy,  not  with  it,  but  to- 
niurn-.v  in  another  ship  to  Rome. 

"Dear  Margaret,  I  took  a  hand- 
litter,  and  was  carried  to  St.  Mark 
his  church.  Outside  it,  towards  the 
market-place,  is  a  noble  gallery,  and 
above  it  foiu*  famous  horses,  cut  in 
brass  by  the  ancient  Romans,  and 
seem  all  moving,  and  at  the  very 
next  step  must  needs  leap  down  on 
the  beholder.  About  the  church 
are  six  hundred  pillars  of  marble, 
porphyry,  and  ophites.  Inside  is  a 
treasure  greater  than  either  at  St. 
Denys,  or  Loretto,  or  Toledo.  Here 
a  jewelled  pitcher  given  the  seigniory 
by  a  Persian  king,  also  the  ducal 
cap  blazing  with  jewels,  and  on  its 
cro\vn  a  diamond  and  a  chr}-soh'te, 
each  as  big  as  an  almond ;  two  golden 
crowns  and  twelve  golden  stomachers 
studded  with  jewels,  from  Constanti- 
nople ;  item,  a  monstrous  sapphire ; 
item,  a  great  diamond  given  by  a 
French  king  ;  item,  a  prodigious  car- 
buncle ;  item,  three  unicorns'  horns. 
But  what  are  these  compared  with 
the  sacred  relics  ? 

"  Dear  Margaret,  I  stood  and  saw 
the  brazen  chest  that  holds  the  body 
of  St.  Mark  tlie  Evangelist.  I  saw 
with  these  eyes,  and  handled,  his  ring 


264 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


and  his  gospel  •vvrittcn  with  his  own 
hand,  and  all  my  travels  seemed 
light;  for  who  am  I  that  I  should 
see  sueh  things  ?  Dear  Margaret,  his 
sacred  hody  was  first  brought  from 
Alexandria  by  merchants  in  810,  and 
then  not  prized  as  now ;  for  between 
829,  when  this  church  was  builded, 
and  1094,  the  very  place  where  it  lay 
was  forgotten.  The  holy  priests 
fasted  and  prayed  many  days  seeking 
for  light,  and  lo,  the  Evangelist's  body 
brake  at  midnight  through  the  mar- 
ble and  stood  before  them.  They 
fell  to  the  earth  ;  but  in  the  morning 
found  the  crevice  the  sacred  body  had 
burst  through,  and,  peering  through 
it,  saw  him  lie.  Then  they  took  and 
laid  him  in  his  chest  beneath  the 
altar,  and  carefully  put  back  the 
stone  with  its  miraculous  crevice, 
which  crevice  I  saw,  and  shall  gape 
for  a  monument  while  the  world  lasts. 
After  tiiat  they  showed  me  the  Vir- 
gin's chair ;  it  is  of  stone ;  also  her 
picture,  painted  by  St.  Par.l,  very 
dark,  and  the  features  now  scarce 
visible.  This  picture,  in  time  of 
drought,  they  carry  in  procession, 
and  brings  the  rain.  I  wish  I  had 
not  seen  it.  Item,  two  pieces  of 
marble  spotted  with  John  the  Bap- 
tist's blood ;  item,  a  piece  of  the  true 
cross  and  of  the  pillar  to  which 
Christ  was  tied  ;  item,  the  rock 
struck  by  Moses,  and  wet  to  this 
hour ;  also  a  stone  Christ  sat  on, 
preaching  at  Tyre  ;  but  some  say  it 
IS  the  one  the  patriarch  .Jacob  lay  his 
head  on,  and  I  hold  with  them,  by  rea- 
son our  Lord  never  prcaclicd  at  Tyre. 
Going  hence  they  showed  me  the 
state  nursery  for  the  children  of  those 
aphrodisian  dames,  their  favorites. 
Here  in  the  outer  wall  was  a  broad 
niche,  and  if  they  bring  them  so  little 
as  they  can  squeeze  them  through  it 
alive,  the  bairn  ftills  into  a  net  inside, 
and  the  state  takes  charge  of  it,  but, 
if  too  big,  their  mothers  must  even 
take  them  home  again,  with  whom 
abiding  't  is  like  to  be  mali  corvi  mali 
ovum.  Coming  out  of  the  church 
we  met  them  carrying  in  a  corpse, 


with  the  feet  and  face  bare.  This  I 
then  first  learned  is  Venetian  cus- 
tom; and  sure  no  other  town  will 
ever  rob  them  of  it,  nor  of  this  that 
follows.  On  a  great  porphyry  slab 
in  the  piazza  were  three  ghastly  heads 
rotting  and  tainting  the  air,  and  in 
their  hot  summers  like  to  take  ven- 
geance with  breeding  of  a  plague. 
These  were  traitors  to  the  state,  and, 
a  heavy  price — two  thousand  ducats 
—  being  put  on  each  head,  their 
friends  had  slain  them  and  brought 
all  three  to  the  slab,  and  so  sold 
blood  of  others  and  their  own  faith. 
No  state  buys  heads  so  many,  nor 
pays  half  so  high  a  price  for  that 
sorry  merchandise.  But  what  I  most 
admired  was  to  see  over  against  the 
duke's  palace  a  fair  gallows  in  ala- 
baster, reared  express  to  hang  him, 
and  no  other,  for  the  least  treason  to 
the  state ;  and  there  it  stands  in  his 
eye  whispering  him  memento  mori. 
I  pondered,  and  owned  these  signors 
my  masters,  who  will  let  no  man, 
not  even  their  sovereign,  be  above  the 
common  weal.  Hard  by,  on  a  wall, 
the  workmen  were  just  finishing,  by 
order  of  the  seigniory,  the  stone  effigy 
of  a  tragical  and  enormous  act  enact- 
ed last  year,  yet  on  the  wall  looks 
innocent.  Here  two  gentlefolks  whis- 
per together,  and  there  other  twain, 
their  swords  by  their  side.  Four 
brethren  were  they,  which  did  on 
either  side  conspire  to  poison  the 
other  two,  and  so  halve  their  land  in 
lieu  of  quartering  it ;  and  at  a  mu- 
tual banquet  these  twain  drugged  the 
wine,  and  those  twain  envenomed  a 
marchpane,  to  such  good  purpose 
that  the  same  afternoon  lay  four 
"  brave  men  "  around  one  table  grov- 
elling in  mortal  agony,  and  cursing 
of  one  another  and  themselves,  and 
so  concluded  miserably,  and  the  land, 
for  which  they  had  lost  their  immor- 
tal souls,  went  into  another  family. 
And  why  not  t  it  could  not  go  into  a 
worse. 

"  But  O  sovereign  wisdom  of  by- 
words !  how  tnie  they  put  the  finger 
on  each  nation's,  or  particidar's,  fault 


THE   CLOISTKR   AND  THE   HEARTH. 


265 


'Quand  Italie  sera  sans  poison 
lit  France  sans  trahison 
Et  I'Augleterre  jaiis  guerre, 
Lors  sera  le  monde  sans  lerre.'  " 

Richurt  cxpl;iiiK'<I  this  to  Catherine, 
then  proceeded  :  "  And  after  this  they 
took  me  to  the  quay,  and  presently  1 
espied  among  the  masts  one  /garland- 
ed with  amaranth  flowers.  'Take 
me  thither,'  said  I,  and  I  let  my 
guide  know  the  custom  of  our  Dutch 
skippers  to  hoist  flowers  to  the  mast- 
head when  they  are  courting  a  maid. 
Oft  had  I  scoffed  at  this,  saying,  '  So 
then  his  wooing  is  the  earth's  con- 
cern.' But  now,  so  far  from  the  Kot- 
ter,  that  bunch  at  her  masthead  made 
my  heart  leap  with  assurance  of  a 
countryman.     They  carried  me,  and, 

0  Margaret !  on  the  stern  of  that 
Dutch  hoy  was  writ  in  mucklc  let- 
ters, 

RICHART  ELLVSSOEN,  AM- 
STERDAM. 
*  Put  me  do^vn,'  I  said :  '  for  Our 
Lady's  sake  put  me  down.'  I  sat  on 
the  bank  and  looked,  scarce  believing 
my  eyes,  and  looked,  and  presently 
fell  to  crying  till  I  could  see  the 
words  no  more.  Ah  me,  how  they 
went  to  my  heart,  those  bare  letters 
in  a  foreign  land.  Dear  Richart ! 
good  kind  brother  Richart !  often  I 
have  sat  on  his  knee  and  rid  on  his 
back.  Kisses  many  he  has  given  me, 
unkind  word  from  him  had  I  never. 
And  there  was  his  name  on  his  own 
ship,  and  his  face  and  all  his  grave, 
but  good  and  gentle  ways,  came  back 
to  me,  and  I  sobbed  vehemently,  and 
cried  aloud,  '  Why,  wliy  is  not  brother 
Richart  here,  and  not  has  name  only  ? ' 

1  spake  in  Dutch,  for  my  heart  was 
too  fidl  to  hold  their  foreign  tongues, 
and  —  " 

Eli.  "  Well,  Richart,  go  on,  lad, 
prithee  go  on.  Is  this  a  place  to  halt 
at  ]  " 

Richart.  "  Father,  with  my  duty  to 
you,  it  is  easy  to  say  go  on,  but  think 
ye  I  am  not  flesh  and  blood  ?     The 

t)Oor  boy's  —  simple  grief  and  brt)ther- 
y  love  coming  —  so  sudden  —  on  mo, 
they  go  through  my  lieart,  and  —  I 


cannot  go  on  :  sink  me  if  I  can  eren 

sec  the  words,  't  is  writ  so  fine." 

Derii/s.  "  Courage,  good  Mastel 
Richart !  Take  your  time.  Here  are 
more  eyne  wet  than  yours.  Ah,  little 
comrade  !  would  God  thou  wert  here, 
and  I  at  "Venice  for  thee." 

Richart.  "  Poor  little  curly-headed 
lad,  what  had  he  done  that  we  have 
driven  him  so  far  ?  " 

"  That  is  what  I  would  fain  know," 
said  Catherine,  dryly,  then  fell  to 
weeping  and  rocking  herself  with  her 
apron  over  her  head. 

"  Kind  dame,  good  friends,"  said 
Margaret,  trembling,  "  let  me  tell  you 
how  the  letter  ends.  The  skipper, 
hearing  our  Gerard  speak  his  grief  in 
Dutch,  accosted  him,  and  spake  com- 
fortably to  him ;  and  after  a  while 
our  Gerard  found  breath  to  say  he 
was  worthy  Master  Richart's  bruther. 
Thereat  was  the  good  skipper  all  agog 
to  serve  him." 

Richart.  "  So !  so !  skipper  !  Master 
Richart  aforesaid  will  be  at  thy  Aved- 
ding,  and  bring 's  purse  to  boot." 

Marrjaret.  "  Sir,  he  told  Gerard  of 
his  consort  that  was  to  sail  that  very 
night  for  Rotterdam ;  and  dear  Gerard 
had  to  go  home  and  finish  his  letter 
and  bring  it  to  the  ship.  And  the 
rest,  it  is  but  his  poor  dear  words  of 
love  to  me,  the  which,  an  't  please  you, 
I  think  shame  to  hear  them  read 
aloud,  and  ends  with  the  lines  I  sent 
to  Mistress  Kate,  and  they  would 
sound  so  harsh  noiv  and  ungrateful." 

The  pleading  tone,  as  much  as  the 
words,  prevailed,  and  Richart  said  he 
would  read  no  more  aloud,  but  run 
his  eye  over  it  for  his  own  brotherly 
satisfaction.  She  blushed  and  looked 
uneasy,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  Eli,"  said  Catherine,  still  sobbing 
a  little,  "  tell  me,  for  Our  Lady's  sake, 
how  our  poor  boy  is  to  live  at  that 
nasty  Rome.  He  is  gone  there  to 
write,  but  here  be  his  own  words" 
to  prove  writing  avails  naught  ;  a 
had  died  o'  hunger  by  the  way  but 
for  paint-brush  and  psaltery.  Well- 
a-day  !  " 

"  Well,"    siud  Eli,    "  he  has  got 


266 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEAKTH. 


brush  and  music  still.  Besides,  so 
many  men  so  many  minds.  \Vritin<i, 
thof  it  had  no  sale  in  other  parts,  may 
be  merchandise  at  Rome." 

"  leather,"  said  little  Kate,  "  have 
I  your  good  leave  to  put  in  my  word 
'twixt  mother  and  you  ?  " 

"  And  welcome,  little  heart." 

"  Then,  seems  to  me,  painting  and 
music,  close  at  hand,  be  stronger  than 
writing,  but,  being  distant,  naught  to 
compare ;  for  see  what  glamour  writ- 
ten paper  hath  done  here  but  now. 
Our  Gerard,  writing  at  Venice,  hath 
verily  put  his  hand  into  this  room  at 
Kottenlam,  and  turned  all  our  hearts. 
Ay,  dear,  dear  Gerard,  mcthinks  thy 
sjjirit  hath  rid  hither  on  these  thy 
paper  wings ;  and,  O  dear  father, 
v.'hy  not  do  as  wc  should  do  were  he 
here  in  the  body  ?  " 

"  Kate,"  said  Eli,  "  fear  not ;  Rich- 
art  and  I  will  give  him  glamour  for 
glamour.  Wc  wHl  write  him  a  letter, 
and  send  it  to  Rome  by  a  sure  hand 
with  money,  and  bid  him  home  on 
the  instant." 

Comelis  and  Sybrandt  exchanged 
a  gloomy  look. 

"Ah,  good  father!  And  mean- 
time ?  " 

"  Well,  meantime  ?  " 

"  Dear  father,  dear  mother,  what 
can  we  do  to  pleasure  the  absent,  but 
be  kind  to  his  ])oor  lass  ;  and  her  own 
trouble  afore  her  1  " 

"  'T  is  well !  "  said  Eli ;  "  but  I  am 
older  than  thou."  Then  he  turned 
gravely  to  Margaret :  "  Wilt  answer 
me  a  question,  my  pretty  mistress  ?  " 

"  If  I  may,  sir,"  faltered  Margaret. 

"  What  are  these  marriage  lines 
Gerard  speaks  of  in  the  letter  1 " 

"  Our  marriage  lines,  sir.  His  and 
mine.  Know  you  not  we  are  be- 
trothed ■?  " 

"  Before  witnesses  ?  " 

"  Ay,  sure.  My  poor  father  and 
Martin  Wittenhaagen." 

"  This  is  the  first  I  ever  heard  of  it. 
How  came  they  in  his  hands  ?  They 
should  be  in  yours." 

"  Alas,  sir,  the  more  is  my  grief; 
but  I  ne'er  doubted  him ;  and  he  said 


it  was  a  comfort  to  him  to  have  them 
in  his  bosom." 

"  Y'  are  a  very  foolish  lass." 

"  Indeed  I  was,  sir.  But  trouble 
teaches  the  simple." 

"  'T  is  a  good  answer.  Well,  fool- 
ish or  no,  y'  are  honest.  I  had  shown 
ye  more  respect  at  first,  but  I  thought 
y'  had  been  his  leman,  and  that  is  tho 
"truth." 

"  God  forbid,  sir !  Dcnys,  methink» 
't  is  time  for  us  to  go.  Give  me  my 
letter,  sir  !  " 

"  Bide  ye  !  bide  j'C  !  be  not  so  hot 
for  a  word  I  Xatheless,  wife,  mcthinks 
her  red  cheek  becomes  her." 

"  Better  than  it  did  you  to  give  it 
her,  my  man." 

"  Softly,  wife,  softly.  I  am  not 
counted  an  unjust  man,  thof  I  be 
somewhat  slow." 

Here  Richart  broke  in.  "  Why, 
mistress,  did  ye  shed  your  blood  for 
our  Gerard  ? ' 

"  Not  I,  sir.     But  maybe  I  would." 

"  Nay,  nay.  But  he  says  you  did. 
Speak  sooth,  now  !  " 

"Alas  !  I  know  not  what  ye 
mean.  I  rede  ye  believe  not  all  that 
my  poor  lad  says  of  me.  Love  makes 
him  blind." 

"  Traitress  !  "  cried  Denys.  "  Let 
not  her  throw  dust  in  thine  eyes. 
Master  Richart.  Old  Martin  tells 
me  —  ye  need  not  make  signals  to  me, 
she-comrade ;  I  am  as  blind  as  love. 
Martin  tells  me  she  cut  her  arm,  and 
let  her  blood  flow,  and  smeared  her 
heels  when  Gerard  was  hunted  by 
the  bloodhounds,  to  turn  the  scent 
from  her  lad." 

"  Well,  and  if  I  did,  't  was  my 
own,  and  spilled  for  the  good  of  my 
own,"  said  Margaret,  defiantly.  But, 
Catherine  suddenly  clasping  her,  she 
began  to  cry  at  having  found  a  bosom 
to  cry  on,  of  one  who  Avould  have 
also  shed  her  blood  for  Gerard  in 
danger. 

Eli  rose  from  his  chair.  "  Wife," 
said  he,  solemnly,  "  you  will  set  an- 
other chair  at  our  table  for  every 
meal ;  also  another  plate  and  knife. 
They  ^\ill  be  for  Margaret  a  Petet 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE   HEARTH. 


267 


She  \vilV  come  when  she  likes,  and 
stay  away  when  she  pleases.  None 
may  take  her  place  at  my  left  hand. 
Such  as  can  welcome  her  are  welcome 
to  me  ;  such  as  cannot,  I  force  them 
not  to  bide  with  me.  The  world  is 
wide  and  free.  Within  my  walls  I 
am  master,  and  my  son's  betrothed  is 
welcome." 

Catherine  bustled  out  to  prepare 
supper.  Eli  and  Kichart  sat  down 
and  concocted  a  letter  to  bring  Ge- 
rard home.  Richart  promised  it 
should  go  by  sea  to  Kome  that  very 
week.  Sybrandt  and  Cornells  ex- 
changed a  gloomy  wink,  and  stole 
out.  Margaret,  seeing  Giles  deep  in 
meditation,  for  the  dwarf's  intelli- 
gence had  taken  giant  strides,  asked 
him  to  bring  the  letter.  "  You  have 
heard  but  half,  good  Master  Giles," 
said  she.  "  Shall  I  read  you  the  rest '?  " 

"  I  shall  be  much  beholden  to  you," 
shouted  the  courtier. 

She  gave  him  her  stool ;  curiosity 
bowed  his  pride  to  sit  on  it ;  and  Mar- 
garet murmured  the  first  pa^  ^  of  the 
letter  into  his  ear  very  low,  not  to 
disturb  Eli  and  Richart.  And,  to  do 
this,  she  leaned  forward  and  put  her 
lovely  face  cheek  by  jowl  with  Giles's 
hideous  one ;  a  strange  contrast,  and 
worth  a  painter's  while  to  try  and  rep- 
resent. And  in  this  attitude  Catherine 
found  her,  and  all  the  mother  warmed 
towards  her,  and  she  exchanged  an 
eloquent  glance  with  little  Kate. 

The  latter  smiled,  and  sewed,  Avith 
drooping  lashes. 

"  Get  him  home  on  the  instant," 
roared  Giles.  "  I  '11  make  a  man 
of  him.  I  can  do  aught  with  the 
duke." 

"  Hear  the  boy  ! "  said  Catherine, 
half  comically,  half  proudly. 

"  We  hear  him,"  said  Richart ; 
"  a  mostly  makes  liimself  heard  when 
a  do  speak." 

SijJirandt.  "  Wliich  will  get  to  him 
first';" 

Cornells  (gloomilv).  "  Who  can 
tell .' " 


CHAPTER  LV. 

About  two  months  before  this 
scene  in  Eli's  home,  the  natives  of  a 
little  maritime  place  between  Naples 
and  Rome  might  be  seen  Hocking  to 
the  sea-beach,  with  eyes  cast  seaward 
at  a  ship  that  labored  against  a  stiff 
gale  blowing  dead  on  the  shore. 

At  times  she  seemed  likely  to 
weather  the  danger,  and  then  the 
spectators  congratulated  her  aloud ; 
at  others  the  wind  and  sea  drove  her 
visibly  nearer,  and  the  lookers  on 
were  not  without  a  secret  satisfaction 
they  would  not  have  owned  even  to 
themselves. 

Non  quia  vexari  quemquam  est  jucuiida  vo- 

luptas 
Sed   quibus   ipse   malis  carcas  quia  cernera 

suave  est. 

And  the  poor  ship,  though  not  sci- 
entifically built  for  sailing,  was  ad- 
mirably constructed  for  going  ashore, 
with  her  extravagant  poop  that  caught 
the  wind,  and  her  lines  like  a  cocked 
hat  reversed.  To  those  on  the  beach, 
that  battered,  laboring  frame  of  wood 
seemed  alive  and  struggling  against 
death  with  a  panting  heart.  But 
could  they  have  been  transferred  to 
her  deck  they  would  have  seen  she 
had  not  one  beating  heart,  but  many, 
and  not  one  nature,  but  a  score,  were 
coming  out  clear  in  that  fearful  hour. 
The  mariners  stumbled  wildly 
about  the  deck,  handling  the  ro]ies 
as  each  thought  fit,  and  cursing  and 
praying  alternately. 

The  passengers  were  huddled  to- 
gether round  the  mast,  some  sitting, 
some  kneeling,  some  lying  prostrate 
and  grasping  the  bulwarks  as  the 
vessel  rolled  and  pitched  in  the 
mighty  waves.  One  comely  young 
man  whose  ashy  cheek,  but  com- 
pressed lips,  showed  how  hard  terror 
was  battling  in  him  with  self-respect, 
stood  a  little  apart,  holding  tight  by 
a  shroud,  and  wincing  at  each  sea. 
It  was  the  ill-fated  Gerard.  Mean- 
time prayers  and  vows  rose  from  the 
'  trembling   throng  amidships,  and,  to 


268 


THE  CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


hear  them,  it  Ffcined  there  were  al- 
most as  mail}'  ;:<)(ls  about  a.s  men 
and  women.  The  sailors,  indeed, 
relied  on  a  single  goddess.  They 
varied  her  titles  only,  calling  on  her 
as  "  Queen  of  Heaven,"  "  Star  of  the 
Sea,"  "  Mistress  of  the  World," 
"  Haven  of  Safety."  But  among  the 
l;uid.-.nien  Polytheism  raged.  Even 
iIkjsc  who  hy  some  strange  clianee 
hit  on  the  same  divinity  did  not  hit 
on  the  same  edition  of  that  divinity. 
An  English  merchant  vowed  a  heap 
of  gold  to  Our  Lady  of  Walsingliam  ; 
but  a  Genoese  merchant  vowed  a 
silver  collar  of  four  ]iouiids  to  Our 
Lady  of  Loretto,  and  a  Tu.sean  noble 
promised  ten  pounds  of  wax  lights  to 
Our  Lady  of  Havcnna ;  and  with  a 
similar  rage  for  diversity  they  jjledged 
tlu'mselves,  not  on  the  true  Cross,  but 
on  the  tnie  Cross  in  this,  that,  or  the 
other  modern  eity. 

Suddenly,  a  more  powerful  gust 
than  usual  catching  the  sail  at  a 
disadvantage,  the  rotten  shrouds  gave 
way,  and  the  sail  was  toni  out  with 
a  loud  crack  and  went  down  the  wind 
smaller  and  smaller,  blacker  and 
blaekcr,  and  fluttered  into  the  sea 
half  a  mile  otV  like  a  sheet  of  paper; 
and,  ere  the  helmsman  could  put  the 
ship's  head  before  the  wind,  a  wave 
caught  her  on  the  quarter  and 
drenched  the  poor  wretches  to  the 
bone,  and  gave  them  a  foretaste  of 
chill  death.  Then  one  vowed  aloud 
to  turn  Carthusian  monk,  if  St. 
Thomas  would  save  him.  Another 
would  go  a  pilgrim  to  Compostello, 
bareheaded,  barefooted,  with  nothing 
but  a  coat  of  mail  on  his  naked 
skin,  if  St.  James  would  save  him. 
Others  invoked  Tliomas,  Dominic, 
Denys,  and,  above  all,  Catherine  of 
Sienna. 

Two  petty  Neapolitan  traders  stood 
shivering. 

One  shouted  at  the  top  of  his  voice, 
"I  vow  to  St.  Christopher  at  Paris  a 
waxen  image  of  his  own  weight,  if  I 
win  safe  to  land." 

On  this  the  other  nudged  him  and 
said,  "Brother,  brother,  take  heed  of  , 


what  you  vow.  AVhy,  if  you  sell  «n 
you  have  in  the  world  by  publie  auc- 
tion, 't  will  not  buy  his  weight  in 
wa.x." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  you  fool," 
said  the  vociferator.  Then  in  a 
whisj>er,  — 

"  Think  ye  I  am  in  earnest?  Let 
me  but  win  safe  to  land,  1  '11  not  give 
him  a  rush  dip." 

Others  lay  flat  and  prayed  to  the 
sea.  "  0  most  mcrcifid  sea  !  O  sea 
most  glorious  !  O  botintiful  sea  !  O 
beautiful  sea,  be  gentle,  be  kind,  pre- 
serve us  in  this  hour  of  jieril." 

And  others  wailed  and  moaned  in 
mere  animal  terror  each  time  the  ill- 
fated  ship  rolled  or  pitehed  more  ter- 
ribly than  usual ;  and  she  was  now  a 
mere  plaything  in  the  arms  of  the 
tremendous  waves. 

A  Koman  woman  of  the  humbler 
class  sat  with  her  eliild  at  her  half- 
bared  breast,  silent  amid  that  wailing 
throng,  her  eheek  ashy  pale,  her  eye 
calm  ;  and  her  lips  moved  at  times  in 
silent  jirayer,  but  she  never  wept  nor 
lamented,  nor  bargained  with  the 
goils.  Whenever  the  shij)  seemed 
really  gone  under  their  feet,  and 
bearded  men  squeaked,  she  kissed  her 
child,  but  that  was  all.  And  so  she 
sat  patient,  and  suckled  him  in  death's 
jaws ;  for  why  should  he  lose  any 
joy  she  could  give  him,  nioribundo  ? 
Ay,  there  I  do  believe  sat  Antiquity 
among  those  media;vals.  Sixteen 
hundred  years  had  not  tainted  the 
old  Koman  blood  in  her  veins ;  and 
the  instinct  of  a  race  she  had  jierhaps 
scarce  heard  of  taught  her  to  die  with 
decent  dignity. 

A  gigantic  fiiar  stood  on  the  poop 
with  feet  aj)art  like  the  Colossus  of 
Rhodes,  not  so  much  defying  as  ig- 
noring the  peril  that  surrounded  him. 
He  recited  verses  from  the  canticles 
with  a  loud,  unwavering  voice;  and 
invited  the  passengers  to  confess  to 
him.  Some  did  so  on  their  knees, 
and  he  heard  them,  and  laid  his  hands 
on  them  and  absolved  them,  as  if  he 
had  been  in  a  simg  sacristy  instead  of 
a  perishing  ship.     Gerai  d  got  nearel 


THE    CLOISTER    AND   THE   HEARTH. 


269 


and  nearer  to  liim,  by  the  instinct  that 
takes  the  wavering  to  the  side  of  the 
impregnable.  And,  in  truth,  the 
courage  of  heroes  facing  fleshly  odds 
might  have  paled  by  the  side  of  that 
gigantic  friar,  and  his  still  more  gi- 
gantic composure.  Thus,  even  here, 
two  were  found  who  maintained  the 
dignity  of  our  race  ;  a  woman,  ten- 
der, yet  heroic,  and  a  monk  steeled  by 
religion  against  mortal  fears. 

And  now,  the  sail  being  gone,  the 
sailors  cut  down  the  useless  mast 
a  foot  above  the  board,  and  it  fell 
with  its  remaining  hamper  over  the 
ship's  side.  This  seemed  to  relieve 
her  a  little. 

But  now  the  hull,  no  longer  im- 
pelled by  canvas,  could  not  keep 
ahead  of  the  sea.  It  struck  her 
again  and  again  on  the  poop,  and 
the  tremendous  blows  seemed  given 
by  a  rocky  mountain,  not  by  a 
liquid. 

The  captain  left  the  helm  and  came 
amidships,  pale  as  death.  "  Lighten 
her,"  he  cried.  "  Eling  all  overboard, 
or  we  shall  founder  ere  we  strike,  and 
lose  the  one  little  chance  we  have  of 
life."  While  the  sailors  were  ex- 
ecuting this  order,  the  captain,  pale 
himself,  and  surrounded  by  pale  foces 
that  demanded  to  know  their  fate, 
was  talking  as  unlike  an  English 
shipper  in  like  peril  as  can  well  be 
imagined.  "  Friends,"  said  he,  "  last 
night,  when  all  was  fair,  —  too  ftiir, 
alas  !  —  there  came  a  globe  of  fire  close 
to  the  ship.  When  a  pair  of  them 
come  it  is  good  luck,  and  naught  can 
drown  her  that  voyage.  We  mariners 
call  these  fiery  globes  Castor  and  Pol- 
lux. But  if  Castor  come  without  Pol- 
lux, or  Pollux  without  Castor,  she  is 
doomed.  Therefore,  like  good  Chris- 
tians, prepai'C  to  die." 

These  words  were  received  with  a 
loud  wail. 

To  a  trembling  inquiry  how  long 
they  had  to  prepare,  the  captain  re- 

i)lied,  "  She  may,  or  may  not,  last 
lalf  an  hour  ;  over  that,  impossible  ; 
she  leaks  like  a  sieve ;  bustle,  men, 
lighten  her. 


The  poor  passengers  seized  on 
cverj'thing  that  was  on  deck  and 
flung  it  overboard.  Presently  they 
laid  hold  of  a  heavy  sack ;  an  old 
man  was  lying  on  it,  seasick.  They 
lugged  it  from  under  him.  It  rattled. 
Two  of  them  drew  it  to  the  side ;  up 
started  the  owner,  and,  with  an  un- 
earthly shriek,  pounced  on  it.  "  Holy 
Moses  !  what  would  you  do  ?  'T  is 
my  all ;  't  is  the  whole  fruits  of  my 
journey;  silver  candlesticks,  silver 
plates,  brooches,  hanaps  — " 

"  Let  go,  thou  hoary  villain,"  cried 
the  others,  "  shall  all  our  lives  be  lost 
for  thy  ill-gotten  gear  ? "  "  Fling  him  in 
with  it,"  cried  one ;  "  't  is  this  Ebrew 
wc  Christian  men  are  drowned  for." 
Numbers  soon  wrenched  it  from  him, 
and  heaved  it  over  the  side.  It 
splashed  into  the  waves.  Then  its 
owner  uttered  one  cry  of  anguish, 
and  stood  glaring,  his  white  hair 
streaming  in  the  wind,  and  was  go- 
ing to  leap  after  it,  and  would,  had  it 
floated.  But  it  sank,  and  was  gone 
forever ;  and  he  staggered  to  and  fro, 
tearing  his  hair,  and  cursed  them  and 
the  ship,  and  the  sea,  and  all  the 
powers  of  heaven  and  hell  alike. 

And  now  the  captain  cried  out : 
"  See,  there  is  a  church  in  sight. 
Steer  for  that  church,  mate,  and 
you,  friends,  pray  to  the  saint,  who- 
e'er he  be." 

So  they  steered  for  the  church  and 
prayed  to  the  unknown  god  it  was 
named  after. 

A  tremendous  sea  pooped  them, 
broke  the  rudder,  and  jammed  it  im- 
movable, and  flooded  the  deck. 

Then,  wild  with  superstitious  terror, 
some  of  them  came  round  Gerard. 
"  Here  is  the  cause  of  all,"  they 
cried.  "  He  has  never  invoked  a 
single  saint.  He  is  a  heathen ;  here 
is  a  pagan  aboard." 

"Alas,  good  friends,  say  not  so," 
said  Gerard,  his  teeth  chattering  with 
cold  and  fear.  "Rather  call  these 
heathens,  that  lie  a  praying  to  the 
sea.  Friends,  I  do  honor  the  saints, 
—  but  I  dare  not  pray  to  them 
now,  —  there  is  no  time  —  (Oh  !)  what 


270 


THE    CLOISTER    AND    IHK    HEARTH. 


avail  me  Dominic,  and  Thomas,  and 
Catherine '?  Nearer  God's  throne 
than  these  St.  I'etcr  sltteth  ;  and,  ii' 
I  pray  to  him,  it's  odds  but  I  shall 
be  drowned  ere  he  lias  time  to  plead 
my  cause  with  God.  Oh  !  oh  !  oh  ! 
I  must  need  go  straight  to  Ilim  that 
made  the  sea,  and  the  saints,  and  me. 
Our  Father,  which  art  in  heaven,  save 
these  poor  souls  and  me  that  cry  for 
the  bare  life  !  O  sweet  Jesus,  jjitiful 
Jesus,  that  didst  walk  Gcnnesaret 
when  Peter  sank,  and  wept  for  Laz- 
arus dead  when  the  apostles'  eyes 
were  dry,  O  save  poor  Gerard  —  for 
dear  Margaret's  sake  !  " 

At  this  moment  the  sailors  were 
seen  preparing  to  desert  the  sink- 
ing sliip  in  the  little  boat,  which 
even  at  tliat  epoch  every  ship  car- 
ried ;  then  there  was  a  rush  of  ego- 
tists, and  thirty  souls  crowded  into  it. 
llemained  behind  three  who  were  be- 
wildered, and  two  who  were  jjaralyzed, 
with  terror.  The  paralyzed  sat  like 
heaps  of  wet  rags,  the  bewildered  ones 
ran  to  and  fro,  and  saw  the  thirty 
egotists  put  off,  but  made  no  attempt 
to  join  them ;  only  kept  nmning  to 
and  fro,  and  wringing  their  hands. 
Besides  these  there  was  one  on  his 
knees  praying  over  the  wooden  statue 
of  the  Virgin  Mary,  as  large  as  life, 
which  the  sailors  "had  reverently  de- 
tached from  the  mast.  It  washed 
about  the  deck  as  the  water  came 
slushing  in  from  the  sea,  and  pour- 
ing out  at  the  scuppers ;  and  this 
poor  soul  kept  following  it  on  his 
knees,  with  his  hands  clasped  at  it 
and  the  water  playing  with  it.  And 
there  was  the  Jew,  palsied,  but  not 
by  fear.  He  was  no  longer  capable 
of  so  petty  a  passion.  lie  sat  cross- 
legged  bemoaning  his  bag,  and,  when- 
ever the  spray  lashed  him,  shook  his 
fist  at  where  it  came  from,  and  cursed 
the  Nazarenes,  and  their  gods,  and 
their  devils,  and  their  ships,  and  their 
waters,  to  all  eternity. 

And  the  gigantic  Dominican,  hav- 
ing shriven  the  whole  ship,  stood 
calmly  communing  with  his  own  spir- 
it.    And  the  Roman  woman  sat  pale 


and  i)atient,  only  drawing  her  child 
closer  to  her  bosom  as  death  came 
nearer. 

Gerard  saw  this,  and  it  awakened 
his  manhood.  "  Sec  !  see  !  "  he  said, 
"  they  have  ta'cn  the  boat  and  left  the 
poor  woman  and  her  child  to  perish." 
His  heart  soon  set  his  wit  work- 
ing. 

"  Wife,  I  '11  save  thee  yet,  please 
God."  And  he  ran  to  find  a  cask 
or  a  plank  to  float  her.  There  was 
none. 

Then  his  eye  fell  on  the  wooden 
image  of  the  Virgin.  He  caught  it 
up  in  his  arms,  and,  heedless  of  a  wail 
that  issued  from  its  worshijjpcr,  like 
a  child  robbed  of  its  toy,  ran  aft  with 
it.  "  Come,  wife,"  he  cried.  "  I  '11 
lash  thee  and  the  child  to  this.  'T  is 
sore  worm-eaten,  but  't  will  servo." 

She  turned  her  great  dark  eye  on 
him  and  said  a  single  word  :  — 
"Thyself?!" 

But  with  wonderful  magnanimity 
and  tenderness. 

"  I  am  a  man,  and  have  no  child  to 
take  care  of." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  she,  and  his  words 
seemed  to  animate  her  face  with  a 
desire  to  live.  He  lashed  the  image 
to  her  side.  Then  with  the  hope  of 
life  she  lost  something  of  her  heroic 
calm  ;  not  much  :  her  body  trembled 
a  little,  but  not  her  eye. 

The  ship  was  now  so  low  in  the 
water,  that,  by  using  an  oar  as  a  lever, 
he  could  slide  her  into  the  waves. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "  while  yet  there 
is  time." 

She  turned  her  great  Roman  eyes, 
wet  now,  upon  him.  "  Poor  youth  ! 
God  forgive  me  !  My  child  ! "  And 
he  launched  her  on  the  surge,  and 
w^ith  his  oar  kept  her  from  being  bat 
tered  against  the  ship. 

A  heavy  hand  fell  on  him  ;  a  deep 
sonorous  voice  sounded  in  his  ear  • 
"  'T  is  well.  Now  come  with  me." 
It  vv^as  the  gigantic  friar. 
Gerard  turned,  and  the  friar  took 
two  strides,  and  laid  hold  of  the  broken 
mast.  Gerard  did  the  same,  obeying 
him    instinctively.      Between    them, 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


271 


*fter  a  prodij^ions  effort,  they  hoisted 
up  the  remainder  of  the  mast  and 
carried  it  oft".  "  Flinty  it  in,"  said 
the  friar,  "  and  follow  it."  They 
flung  it  in  ;  but  one  of  the  bewildered 
passengers  had  run  after  them,  and 
jumped  first  and  got  on  one  end. 
Gerard  seized  the  other,  the  friar  the 
middle. 

It  was  a  terrible  situation.  The 
mast  rose  and  plunged  with  each  wave 
like  a  kicking  horse,  and  the  spray 
flogged  their  faces  mercilessly,  and 
blinded  them,  to  help  knock  them 
off. 

Presently  was  heard  a  long,  grating 
noise  ahead.  The  ship  had  struck : 
and  soon,  after,  she  being  stationary 
now,  they  were  hurled  against  her 
with  tremendous  force.  Their  com- 
panion's head  struck  against  the  up- 
per part  of  the  broken  rudder  with 
a  horrible  crack,  and  was  smashed 
like  a  cocoanut  by  a  sledge-hammer. 
He  sunk  directly,  leaving  no  trace  but 
a  red  stain  on  the  water,  and  a  white 
clot  on  the  jagged  rudder,  and  a  death 
cry  ringing  in  their  ears,  as  they  drifted 
clear  under  the  lee  of  the  black  hull. 
The  friar  uttered  a  short  Latin  prayer 
for  the  safety  of  his  soul,  and  took 
his  place  composedly.  They  rolled 
along  vircK  Oavaroio ',  oue  moment  they 
saw  nothing,  and  seemed  down  in  a 
mere  basin  of  watery  hills  :  the  next 
they  caught  glimpses  of  the  shore 
speckled  bright  with  people,  who  kept 
throwing  up  their  arms  with  wild 
Italian  gestures  to  encourage  them, 
and  the  black  boat  driving  bottom 
upwards,  and  between  it  and  them 
the  woman  rising  and  falling  like 
themselves.  She  had  come  across  a 
paddle,  and  was  holding  her  child 
tight  with  her  left  arm,  and  paddling 
gallantly  with  her  right. 

When  they  had  tumbled  along  thus 
a  long  time,  suddenly  the  friar  said 
quietly  :  "  I  touched  the  ground." 

"  Impossible,  father,"  said  Grerard, 
"  wo  are  more  than  a  hundred  yards 
from  shore.  Prithee,  prithee,  leave 
not  our  faithful  mast." 

"  My  son."   said  the  friar,  "  you 

JO,* 


speak  prudently.  But  know  that  1 
have  business  of  Holy  Church  on  hand, 
and  may  not  waste  time  floating  when 
I  can  walk  in  her  service.  There,  ] 
felt  it  with  my  toes  again  ;  see  the 
benefit  of  wearing  sandals,  and  not 
shoon.  Again  ;  and  sandy.  Thy 
stature  is  less  than  mine  ;  keep  to  the 
mast !  I  walk."  He  left  the  mast 
accordingly,  and,  extending  his  pow- 
erful arms,  rushed  through  the  water. 
Gerard  soon  followed  him.  At  each 
overpowering  wave  the  monk  stood 
like  a  tower,  and,  closing  his  mouth, 
threw  his  head  back  to  encounter  it, 
and  was  entirely  lost  under  it  awhile ; 
then  emerged  and  ploughed  lustily  on. 
At  last  they  came  close  to  the  shore  , 
but  the  suction  outward  baffleu  all 
their  attempts  to  land.  Then  the 
natives  sent  stout  fishermen  into  the 
sea,  holding  by  long  spears  in  a 
triple  chain  ;  and  so  dragged  them 
ashore. 

The  friar  shook  himself,  bestowed 
a  short  paternal  benediction  on  the 
natives,  and  went  on  to  Rome,  with 
eyes  bent  on  earth,  according  to  his 
rule,  and  without  pausing.  He  did 
not  even  cast  a  glance  back  upon  that 
sea  which  had  so  nearly  ingulfed  him, 
but  had  no  power  to  harm  him  with- 
out his  Master's  leave. 

While  he  stalks  on  alone  to  Rome 
without  looking  back,  I,  who  am  not 
in  the  service  of  Holy  Church,  stop  a 
moment  to  say  that  the  reader  and  I 
were  within  six  inches  of  this  giant 
once  before  ;  but  we  escaped  him  that 
time.  Now,  I  fear,  we  are  in  for  him. 
Gerard  grasped  every  hand  upon  the 
beach.  They  brought  him  to  an 
enormous  fire,  and,  with  a  delicacy  he 
would  hardly  have  encountered  in  the 
north,  left  him  to  dry  himself  alone  : 
on  this  he  took  out  of  his  bosom  a 
parchment  and  a  paper,  and  dried 
them  carefully.  When  this  was  done 
to  his  mind,  and  not  till  then,  he  con- 
sented to  put  on  a  fisherman's  dress 
and  leave  his  own  by  the  fire,  and 
went  down  to  the  beach.  What  he 
saw  may  be  briefly  related. 

The  captain  stuck  by  the  ship,  not 


272 


THE   CLOISTER  AND   THE   HEARTH. 


so  much  from  pallantry  as  from  a 
conviction  tliiit  it  was  idle  to  resist 
Castor  or  I'ollux,  whichever  it  was, 
that  had  come  for  him  in  a  ball  of 
<irc. 

Nevertheless  the  sea  broke  up  the 
ship,  and  swept  the  poor  captain  and 
all  clear  of  the  rest,  and  took  him 
safe  ashore.  Gerard  had  a  principal 
hand  in  pullin}^  him  out  of  the  water. 
The  disconsolate  Hebrew  landed  on 
another  fragment,  and,  on  touching 
earth,  otfered  a  reward  for  his  bag, 
which  excited  little  sympathy,  but 
some  amusement.  Two  more  were 
saved  on  pieces  of  the  wreck.  The 
thirty  egotists  came  ashore,  but  one  at 
a  time,  and  dead  ;  one  breathed  still. 
Him  the  natives,  with  excellent  in- 
tentions, took  to  a  hot  fire.  So  then 
he  too  retired  from  this  shifting 
scene. 

As  Gerard  stood  by  the  sea  watch- 
ing, with  liorror  and  curiosity  mixed, 
his  late  companions  wjujhed  ashore,  a 
hand  was  laid  lightly  on  his  shoulder. 
He  turned.  It  was  the  Koman  ma- 
tron, burning  with  womanly  gratitude. 
She  took  his  hand  gently,  and,  raising 
it  slowly  to  her  lips,  kissed  it ;  but 
so  nobly,  she  seemed  to  be  confemng 
an  honor  on  one  deserving  hand. 
Then,  with  face  all  beaming,  and 
moist  eyes,  she  held  her  child  up  and 
made  him  kiss  his  preserver. 

Gerard  kissed  the  child  more  than 
once.  He  was  fond  of  children. 
But  he  said  nothing.  He  was  much 
moved  ;  for  she  did  not  speak  at  all, 
except  with  her  eyes,  and  glowing 
cheeks,  and  noble  antique  gesture,  so 
large  and  stately.  Perhaps  she  was 
right.  Gratitude  is  not  a  thing  of 
words.  It  was  an  ancient  Eoman 
matron  thanking  a  modern  from  her 
heart  of  hearts. 

Next  day,  towards  afternoon,  Ge- 
rard —  t^vice  as  old  as  last  year,  thrice 
as  learned  in  human  ways,  a  boy  no 
more,  but  a  man  who  had  shed  blood 
in  self-defence,  and  grazed  the  grave 
by  land  and  sea  —  reached  the  eternal 
city ;  post  tot  naufragia  tutus. 


CHAPTER    LVI. 

Gkrard  took  a  modest  lodging  on 
the  west  bank  of  the  Tiber,  and  every 
day  went  forth  in  search  of  work, 
taking  a  specimen  round  to  every 
shop  he  could  hear  of  that  executed 
such  commissions. 

They  received  him  coldly.  "  We 
make  our  letter  somewhat  thinner 
than  this,"  said  one.  "  How  dark 
your  ink  is,"  siud  another.  Uut  the 
main  cry  was,  "  What  avails  this  1 
Scant  is  the  Latin  writ  here  now. 
Can  ye  not  write  Greek  >.  " 

"  Ay,  but  not  nigh  so  well  aa 
Latin.'' 

"  Then  you  shall  never  make  your 
bread  at  Home." 

Gerard  borrowed  a  beautiful  Greek 
manuscript  at  a  high  price,  and  went 
home  with  a  sad  hole  in  his  purse, 
but  none  in  his  ccjurage. 

In  a  fortnight  he  Jiad  made  vast 
progress  with  the  Greek  character; 
so  then,  to  lose  no  time,  he  used  to 
work  at  it  till  noon,  and  hunt  custom- 
ers the  rest  of  the  day. 

When  he  carried  round  a  better 
Greek  specimen  than  any  they  pos- 
sessed, the  traders  informed  him  that 
Greek  and  Latin  were  alike  unsala- 
ble ;  the  city  was  thronged  with  works 
from  all  Europe.  He  should  havo 
come  last  year. 

Gerard  bought  a  psaltery. 

His  landlady,  pleased  with  his  looks 
and  manners,  used  often  to  speak  a 
kind  word  in  passing.  One  day  she 
made  him  dine  with  her,  and  some- 
what to  his  surprise  asked  him  what 
had  dashed  his  spirits.  He  told  her. 
She  gave  him  her  reading  of  the  mat- 
ter. "  Those  sly  traders,"  she  would 
be  bound,  "  had  writers  in  their  pay, 
for  whose  work  they  received  a  noble 
price  and  paid  a  sorrj'  one.  So  no 
wonder  they  blow  cold  on  you.  Mo- 
thinks  you  write  too  well.  How  know 
I  that "?  say  you.  Marrj'  —  marry, 
because  you  lock  not  your  door  like 
the  churl  Pietro,  and  women  will  be 
curious.  Ay,  ay,  you  write  too  well 
for  them." 


THK   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


273 


Gerard  askocl  an  explanation. 

"  Wiiy,"  said  she,  "  your  good 
ivork  might  put  out  the  eyes  of  that 
tiiey  are  selling." 

Gerard  sighed.  "  Alas !  dame, 
you  read  folk  on  the  ill  side,  and  you 
so  kind  and  frank  yourself." 

"  My  dear  little  heart,  these  Ko- 
mans  are  a  subtle  raee.  Me  ?  I  am 
a  Siennese,  thanks  to  the  Virgin." 

"  My  mistake  was  leaving  Augs- 
burg," said  Gerard. 

"  Augsburg?  "  said  she,  iiaughtily ; 
"  is  that  a  place  to  even  to  l{ome  ?  I 
never  heard  of  it,  for  my  part." 

She  then  assured  him  tliat  he  should 
make  his  fortune  in  spite  of  tne  book- 
sellers. "  Seeing  thee  a  stranger, 
they  lie  to  thee  without  sense  or  dis- 
cretion. Why,  all  the  world  knows 
that  our  great  folk  are  bitten  with  the 
writing  spider  this  many  years,  and 
pour  out  their  money  like  water,  and 
turn  good  land  and  houses  into  writ 
sheepskins  to  keep  in  a  chest  or  a 
cupboard.  God  help  them,  and  send 
them  safe  through  this  fury,  as  he 
hath  through  a  heap  of  others  ;  and 
in  sooth  hath  been  somewhat  less  cut- 
ting and  stabbing  among  rival  fac- 
tions, and  vindictive  eating  of  their 
opposites'  livers,  minced  and  fried, 
since  Scribbling  came  in.  Why, /can 
tell  you  two.  There  is  his  eminence 
Cardinal  Bassarion,  and  his  holiness 
the  Pope  himself.  There  be  a  pair 
could  keep  a  score  such  as  thee  a 
%vriting  night  and  day.  But  I  '11 
speak  to  Teresa ;  she  hears  the  gos- 
sip of  the  court." 

The  next  day  she  told  him  she  had 
seen  Teresa,  and  had  heard  of  five 
more  signors  who  were  bitten  with 
the  writing  spider.  Gerard  took 
down  their  names,  and  bought  parch- 
ment, and  busied  himself  for  some 
days  in  preparing  specimens.  He 
left  one,  with  his  name  and  address, 
at  each  of  these  signors'  doors,  and 
hopefully  awaited  the  result. 

There  was  none. 

Day  after  day  passed  and  left  him 
heartsick. 

And,  strange  to  say,  this  was  just 


the  time  when  Margaret  was  fighting 
so  hard  against  odds  to  feed  her  male 
dependants  at  Kotterdam,  and  ar- 
rested for  curing  without  a  license  in* 
stead  of  killing  with  one. 

Gi3rard  saw  ruin  staring  him  in  the 
face. 

He  spent  the  afternoon  picking  up 
canzonets  and  mastering  them.  He 
laid  in  playing  cards  to  color,  and 
struck  off  a  meal  per  day. 

This  last  stroke  of  genius  got  him 
into  fresh  trouble. 

In  these  "camere  locande"  the 
landlady  dressed  all  the  meals, 
though  the  lodgers  bought  the  pro- 
visions. So  Gerard's  hostess  speed- 
ily detected  him,  and  asked  him  if 
he  was  not  ashamed  of  himself;  by 
which  brusque  opening,  having  made 
him  blush  and  looked  scared,  she 
pacified  herself  all  in  a  moment,  and 
appealed  to  his  good  sense  whether 
Adversity  was  a  thing  to  be  overcome 
on  an  empty  stomach. 

"  Patienza,  my  lad !  times  will 
mend  ;  meantime  I  will  feed  you  for 
the  love  of  Heaven."  (Italian  for 
"gratis.") 

"  Nay,  hostess,"  said  Gerard,  "  my 
purse  is  not  yet  quite  void,  and  it 
would  add  to  my  trouble  an'  if  true 
folk  should  lose  their  due  by  me." 

"  AVli}',  you  are  as  mad  as  your 
neighbor  Pietro,  with  his  one  bad 
picture." 

"  Why,  how  know  you  't  is  a  bad 
picture  ?  " 

"  Because  nobody  will  buy  it. 
There  is  one  that  hath  no  gift.  He 
will  have  to  don  casque  and  glaive, 
and  carry  his  panel  for  a  shield. 

Gerard  pricked  up  his  ears  at  this  ; 
so  she  told  him  more.  Pietro  had 
come  from  Florence  with  money  in 
ills  purse,  and  an  unfinished  picture  ; 
had  taken  her  one  unfurnished  room, 
opposite  Gerard's,  and  furnished  it 
neatly.  When  his  picture  was  fin- 
ished, he  received  \isitors,  and  had 
offers  for  it ;  these,  though  in  her 
opinion  liberal  ones,  he  had  refused 
so  disdainfully  as  to  make  enemies  of 
his  customers.      Since  then  he  had 


274 


THE  CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


often  taken  it  out  with  him  to  try 
and  sell,  but  had  always  brou<j:ht  it 
back ;  and  the  last  month  she  had 
seen  one  morable  after  another  f;o 
out  of  his  room,  and  now  he  wore 
but  one  suit,  and  lay  at  night  on  a 
great  ehcst.  She  had  found  this  out 
only  by  peeping  through  the  keyhole, 
for  he  locked  the  door  most  vigilantly 
whenever  he  went  out.  "  Is  he  afraid 
we  shall  steal  his  chest,  or  his  picture, 
that  no  soul  in  all  Rome  is  weak 
enough  to  buy  ?  " 

"Nay,  sweet  hostess,  see  you  not 
't  is  his  poverty  he  would  screen  from 
view  1  " 

"  And  the  more  fool  ho  !  Arc  all 
our  hearts  as  ill  as  his  ?  A  might 
give  us  a  trial  first,  any  way." 

"  How  you  speak  of  him.  Why, 
his  case  is  mine  ;  and  your  country- 
man to  boot." 

"  0,  we  Siennese  love  strangers. 
His  case  yours?  nay, 'tis  just  the 
contran,-.  You  are  the  comeliest 
youth  ever  lodged  in  this  house ;  hair 
like  gold  :  he  is  a  dark,  sour-visaged 
loon.  Besides,  you  know  how  to  take 
a  woman  on  her  better  side  ;  but  not 
he.  Natheless  I  wish  he  would  not 
starve  to  death  in  my  house,  to  get 
me  a  bad  name.  Any  way,  one 
starveling  is  enough  in  any  house. 
You  are  from  home,  and  it  is  for  me, 
which  am  the  mistress  here,  to  num- 
ber your  meals,  —  for  me  and  the 
Dutch  wife,  your  mother,  that  is  far 
away  :  we  two  women  shall  settle 
that  matter.  Mind  thou  thine  own 
business,  being  a  man,  and  leave 
cooking  and  the  like  to  us,  that  are 
in  the  world  for  little  else  that  I  see 
but  to  roast  fowls,  and  suckle  men 
at  starting,  and  sweep  their  grown-up 
cobwebs." 

"  Dear,  kind  dame,  in  sooth  you  do 
often  put  me  in  mind  of  my  mother 
that  is  far  away." 

"  All  the  better  ;  I  '11  put  you  more 
in  mind  of  her  before  I  have  done 
with  you."  And  the  honest  soul 
beamed  with  pleasure. 

Gerard  not  being  an  egotist,  nor 
blinded  by  female  partialities,  saw  his 


own  grief  in  poor,  proud  Pletro  ;  and 
the  more  he  thought  of  it.  the  more 
he  resolved  to  share  his  humble  means 
with  that  unlucky  artist ;  Pietro's  sym- 
pathy would  repay  him.  He  tried  to 
waylay  him,  but  without  success. 

One  day  he  heard  a  groaning  in  the 
room.  He  knocked  at  the  door,  but 
received  no  answer.  He  knocked 
again.  A  surly  voice  bade  him  en- 
ter. 

He  obeyed  somewhat  timidly,  and 
entered  a  garret  furnished  with  a 
chair,  a  picture,  face  to  wall,  an  iron 
basin,  an  easel,  and  a  long  chest,  on 
which  was  coiled  a  haggard  young 
man  with  a  wonderfully  bright  eye. 
Anything  more  like  a  coiled  cobra 
ripe  for  striking  the  first  comer  was 
rarely  seen. 

"  Good  Signor  Pietro,"  said  Gerard, 
"  forgive  me  that,  weary  of  my  own 
solitude,  I  intrude  on  yours  ;  but  I  am 
your  nighest  neighbor  in  this  house, 
and  mcthinks  your  brother  in  fortune. 
I  am  an  artist  too." 

"You  are  a  painter  ?  welcome, 
signor.     Sit  down  on  my  bed." 

And  Pietro  jumped  off  and  waved 
him  into  the  vacant  throne  with  a 
magnificent  demonstration  of  cour- 
tesy. 

Gerard  bowed,  and  smiled ;  but 
hesitated  a  little.  "  I  may  not  call 
myself  a  painter.  I  am  a  writer,  a 
caligraph.  I  copy  Greek  and  Latin 
manuscripts,  when  I  can  get  them  to 
copy." 

"  And  you  call  that  an  artist  ?  " 

"  Without  offence  to  your  superior 
merit,  Signor  Pietro." 

"  No  offence,  stranger,  none.  Only, 
mo  seemcth  an  artist  is  one  who 
thinks,  and  paints  his  thought.  Now 
a  caligraph  but  draws  in  black  and 
white  the  thoughts  of  another." 

"  'T  is  well  distinguished,  signor. 
But  then,  a  writer  can  write  the 
thoughts  of  the  great  ancients,  and 
matters  of  pure  reason,  such  as  no 
man  may  paint ;  ay,  and  the  thoughts 
of  God,  which  angels  could  not  paint. 
But  let  that  pass.  I  am  a  painter  as 
well ;  but  a  sorry  one." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


275 


"The  better  thy  luck.  They  will 
buy  thy  work  in  Rome." 

"  But,  seeking  to  commend  myself 
to  one  of  thy  eminence,  I  thought  it 
well  rather  to  call  myself  a  capable 
writer  than  a  scurvy  painter." 

At  this  moment  a  step  was  heard 
on  the  stair.  "  Ah  !  't  is  the  good 
dame,"  cried  Gerard.  "  What  ho, 
hostess  !  I  am  here  in  conversation 
with  Signor  Fietro.  I  dare  say  he 
^•ill  let  me  have  my  humble  dinner 
here." 

The  Italian  bowed  gravely. 

The  landlady  brought  in  Gerard's 
dinner,  smoking  and  savory.  She 
put  the  dish  down  on  the  bed  with  a 
face  divested  of  all  expression,  and 
went. 

Gerard  fell  to  But,  ere  he  had 
eirten  many  mouthfuls,  lie  stopped, 
and  said :  "  I  am  an  ill-mannered 
churl,  Signor  Pietro.  I  ne'er  eat  to 
my  mind  when  I  eat  alone.  For  Our 
Lady's  sake  put  a  spoon  into  this 
ragout  with  me ;  't  is  not  unsavory, 
I  promise  you." 

Pietro  fixed  his  glittering  eye  on 
him. 

"  What,  good  youth,  thou  a  stran- 
ger, and  offerest  me  thy  dinner  ?  " 

"  Why,  see,  there  is  more  than  one 
can  eat." 

"  Well,  I  accept,"  said  Pietro  ;  and 
took  the  dish  with  some  appearance 
of  calmness,  and  flung  the  contents 
out  of  the  window. 

Then  he  turned,  trembling  with 
mortification  and  ire,  and  said  :  "  Let 
that  teach  thee  to  offer  alms  to  an 
artist,  thou  knowest  not,  Master 
Writer." 

Gerard's  face  flushed  with  anger, 
and  it  cost  him  a  bitter  struggle  not 
to  box  this  high-souled  creature's 
ears  And  then  to  go  and  destroy 
good  food  !  His  mother's  milk  cur- 
dled in  his  veins  \vith  horror  at  such 
impiety.  Finally,  pity  at  Pietro's 
petulance  and  egotism,  and  a  touch 
of  respect  for  poverty-struck  pride, 
prevailed. 

However,  he  said  coldly,  "Likely 
what  thou  hast  douc  might  pass  in 


a  novel  of  thy  countryman,  Signor 
Boccaccio;  but  'twas  not  honest." 

"  Make  that  good !  "  said  the  paint' 
er,  sullenly. 

"  I  offered  thee  half  my  dinner;  no 
more.  But  thou  hast  ta'en  it  all. 
Hadst  a  right  to  throw  away  thy 
share,  but  not  mine.  Pride  is  well, 
but  justice  is  better." 

Pietro  stared,  and  then  reflected. 

"  'T  is  well.  I  took  thee  for  a  fool, 
so  transparent  was  thine  artifice.  Fop 
give  me !  And  prithee  leave  me ! 
Thou  seest  how  't  is  with  me.  The 
world  hath  soured  me.  I  hate  man- 
kind. I  was  not  always  so.  Once 
more  excuse  that  my  discourtesy,  and 
fare  thee  well. 

Gerard  sighed,  and  made  for  the 
door. 

But  suddenly  a  thought  struck  him. 
"  Signor  Pietro,"  said  he,  "  we  Dutch- 
men are  hard  bargainers.  We  are 
the  lads  '  een  eij  scheeren,'  that  is  '  to 
shave  an  egg.'  Therefore,  I,  for  my 
lost  dinner,  do  claim  to  feast  mine 
eyes  on  your  picture,  whose  face  is 
toward  the  wall." 

"  Nay,  nay,"  said  the  painter,  has- 
tily, "  ask  me  not  that ;  I  have  al- 
ready misconducted  myself  enough 
towards  thee.  I  would  not  shed  thy 
blood." 

"  Saints  forbid !     My  blood  1 " 

"Stranger,"  said  Pietro,  sullenly, 
"irritated  by  repeated  insults  to  my 

ficture,  which  is  my  child,  my  heart, 
did  in  a  moment  of  rage  make  a  sol- 
emn vow  to  drive  my  dagger  into  the 
next  one  that  should  flout  it  and  the 
labor  and  love  that  I  have  given  to  it." 
"  What,  are  all  to  be  slain  that  will 
not  praise  this  picture  ? "  and  he 
looked  at  its  back  wth  curiosity. 

"  Nay,  nay  ;  if  ye  would  but  look 
at  it,  and  hold  your  parrot  tongues. 
But  you  will  be  talking.  So  I  have 
turned  it  to  the  wall  forever.  Would 
I  were  dead,  and  buried  in  it  for  my 
coflSn !  " 

Gerard  reflected. 

"I  accept  the  conditions.  Show 
t  me  the  picture !  I  can  but  hold  my 
I  peace." 


276 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


Pietro  went  and  turned  its  face,  and 
put  it  in  the  best  light  the  room  af- 
forded, and  eoiled  himself  again  on 
his  chest,  with  his  eye,  and  stiletto, 
glittering. 

The  picture  represented  the  Virgin 
and  Christ,  flying  through  the  air  in 
a  sort  of  cloud  of  shadowy  cherubic 
faces ;  underneath  was  a  landscape, 
forty  or  fifty  miles  in  extent,  and  a 
purple  sky  above. 

Gerard  stood  and  looked  at  it  in 
silence.  Then  he  stepped  close,  and 
looked.  Then  he  retired  as  far  off  as 
he  could,  and  looked ;  but  said  not  a 
word. 

When  ho  had  been  at  this  game 
half  an  hour,  Pietro  cried  out  queru- 
lously and  somewhat  inconsistently : 
"  Well,  have  you  not  a  word  to  say 
about  it?" 

Gerard  started.  "  I  cry  your  mer- 
cy ;  I  forgot  there  were  three  of  us 
here.  Ay,  I  have  much  to  say."  And 
he  drew  his  sword. 

"  Alas !  alas !  "  cried  Pietro,  jump- 
ing in  terror  from  his  lair.  "  What 
wouldst  thou  ? " 

"  Marry,  defend  myself  against  thy 
bodkin,  signor,  and  at  due  odds,  t)e- 
ing,  as  aforesaid,  a  Dutchman.  There- 
fore, hold  aloof,  while  I  deliver  judg- 
ment, or  I  will  pin  thee  to  the  wall 
like  a  cockchafer. ' 

"  0,  is  that  all?  "  said  Pietro,  greatly 
relieved.  "  I  feared  you  were  going 
to  stab  my  poor  picture  with  your 
sword,  stabbed  already  by  so  many 
foul  tongues." 

Gerard  "pursued  criticism  under 
difficulties."  Put  himself  in  a  posi- 
tion of  defence,  with  his  sword's  point 
covering  Pietro,  and  one  eye  glancing 
aside  at  the  picture.  "First,  signor, 
I  would  have  you  know  that,  in  the 
mixing  of  certain  colors,  and  in  the 
preparation  of  your  oil,  you  Italians 
arc  far  behind  us  Flemings.  But  let 
that  flea  stick.  For  as  small  as  I  am, 
I  can  show  you  certain  secrets  of  the 
Van  Eycks,  that  you  will  put  to  mar- 
vellous profit  in  your  next  picture. 
Meantime  I  see  in  this  one  the  great 
qualities  of  your  nation.     Verily,  ye 


are  solis  JUii.  If  we  have  color,  you 
have  imagination.  Mother  of  Heaven  ! 
an  he  hath  not  flung  his  inmiortal 
soul  upon  the  panel.  One  thing  I  go 
by  is  this :  it  makes  other  pictures  I 
once  admired  seem  drossy,  earth-bom 
things.  The  drapciy  here  is  some- 
what short  and  stiff.  Why  not  let  it 
float  freely,  the  figures  being  in  air 
and  motion  ?  " 

"  I  will !  I  will !  "  cried  Pietro, 
eagerly.  "I  will  do  anything  for 
those  who  will  but  see  what  I  have 
done." 

"  Humph  !  This  landscape  it  en- 
lightens me.  Henceforth  I  scorn 
those  little  huddled  landscapes  that 
did  erst  content  me.  Here  is  Nature's 
very  face ;  a  spacious  plain,  each  dis- 
tance marked,  and  every  tree,  house, 
figiu-e,  field,  and  river  smaller  and 
less  plain,  by  exquisite  gradation,  till 
vision  itself  melts  into  distance.  O 
beautiful !  And  the  cunning  rogue 
hath  hung  his  celestial  figure  in  air 
out  of  the  way  of  his  little  world  be- 
low. Here,  floating  saints  beneath 
Heaven's  purple  canopy;  there,  far 
doAvn,  earth  and  her  busy  hives.  And 
they  let  you  take  this  painted  poetry, 
this  blooming  hymn,  through  the 
streets  of  Rome  and  bring  it  home 
unsold.  But  I  tell  thee  in  Ghent  or 
Bruges,  or  even  in  Rotterdam,  they 
would  tear  it  out  of  thy  hands.  But 
't  is  a  common  saying  that  a  stran- 
ger's eye  sees  clearest.  Courage,  Pie- 
tro Vanucci !  I  reverence  thee,  and, 
though  myself  a  scurvy  painter,  do 
forgive  thee  for  being  a  great  one. 
Forgive  thee  ?  I  thank  God  for  thee 
and  such  rare  men  as  thou  art,  and 
bow  the  knee  to  thee  in  just  homage. 
Thy  picture  is  inmiortal,  and  thou, 
that  hast  but  a  chest  to  sit  on,  art  a 
king  in  thy  most  royal  art.  Viva,  U 
maestro !     Viva !  " 

At  this  xinexpected  burst  the  paint- 
er, with  all  the  abandon  of  his  na- 
tion, flung  himself  on  Gerard's  neck. 
"  They  said  it  was  a  maniac's  dream," 
he  sobbed. 

"  Maniacs  themselves !  no,  idiots  !  * 
shouted  Gerard. 


THE  CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


277 


"Generons  stranger!  I  will  hate 
men  no  more  since  the  world  hath 
such  as  thee.  I  was  a  viper  to  fling 
thy  poor  dinner  away;  a  wretch,  a 
monster." 

"  Well,  monster,  wilt  be  gentle  now, 
and  Slip  with  me  1 " 

"Ah!  that  I  wQl.  "Whither  goest 
thou  ? " 

"  To  order  supper  on  the  instant. 
Wc  Avill  have  the  picture  for  third 
man." 

"  I  will  invite  it  whiles  thou  art 
gone.  My  poor  picture,  child  of  my 
heart." 

"  Ah  !  master ;  't  will  look  on  many 
a  supper  after  the  worms  have  eaten 
you  and  me." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Pietro. 


CHAPTER  LVII. 

About  a  week  after  this  the  two 
friends  sat  working  together,  but  not 
in  the  same  spirit.  Pietro  dashed  fit- 
fully at  his,  and  did  wonders  in  a  few 
minutes,  and  then  did  nothing  ex- 
cept abuse  it ;  then  presently  resumed 
it  in  a  fur}',  to  lay  it  down  with  a 
groan  ;  through  all  which  kept  calmly 
working,  calmly  smiling,  the  canny 
Dutchman. 

To  be  plain,  Gerard,  who  never  had 
a  friend  he  did  not  master,  had  put 
his  Onagra  in  harness.  The  friends 
were  painting  playing  cards  to  boil 
the  pot. 

When  done,  the  indignant  master 
took  up  his  picture  to  make  his  daily 
tour  in  search  of  a  customer. ' 

Gerard  begged  him  to  take  tlie 
cards  as  well,  and  trj'  to  sell  them. 
He  looked  all  the  rattlesnake,  but 
eventually  embraced  Gerard  in  the 
Italian  fashion,  and  took  them,  after 
first  drying  the  last-finished  ones  in 
the  sun,  which  was  now  powerful  in 
that  happy  clime. 

Gerard,  left  alone,  executed  a  Greek 
letter  or  two,  and  then  mended  a  little 
rent  in  his  hose.  His  landlady  found 
hiiTi    thus    employed,    and    inquired 


ironically  whether  there  were  no 
women  in  the  house. 

'•  When  you  have  done  that,"  said 
she,  "  come  and  talk  to  Teresa,  my 
friend  I  spoke  to  thee  of,  that  hath  a 
husband  not  good  for  much,  which 
brags  his  acquaintance  with  the 
great." 

Gerard  went  down,  and  who  should 
Teresa  be  but  the  Roman  matron  ? 

"  Ah,  madama,"  said  he,  "  is  it 
you?  The  good  dame  told  me  not 
that.  And  the  little  fair-haired  boy, 
is  he  well  ?  is  he  none  the  worse  for 
his  voyage  in  that  strange  boat  1  " 

"  He  is  well,"  said  the  matron. 

"  Why,  what  are  you  two  talking 
about  ?  "  said  the  landlady,  staring 
at  them  both  in  turn ;  "  and  why 
tremble  you  so,  Teresa  mia "?  " 

"  He  saved  my  child's  life,"  said 
Teresa,  making  an  effort  to  compose 
herself. 

"  What,  my  lodger  ?  and  he  never 
told  me  a  word  of  that.  Art  not 
ashamed  to  look  me  in  the  face  1 " 

"  Alas  !  speak  not  harshly  to  him," 
said  the  matron.  She  then  turned  to 
her  friend  and  poured  out  a  glowing 
description  of  Gerard's  conduct,  dur- 
ing which  Gerard  stood  blushing  like 
a  girl  and  scarce  recognizing  his  own 
performance,  gratitude  painted  it  so 
fair. 

"And  to  think  thou  shouldst  ask 
me  to  serv-e  thy  lodger,  of  whom  I 
knew  naught  but  that  he  had  thy 
good  word,  0  Fiammina :  and  that 
was  enough  for  me.  Dear  youth,  in 
ser\'ing  thee  I  ser\-e  myself." 

Then  ensued  an  eager  description, 
by  the  two  women,  of  what  had  been 
done,  and  what  should  be  done,  to 
penetrate  the  thick  wall  of  fees, 
commissions,  and  chicanery  which 
stood  between  the  patrons  of  art 
and  an  unknown  artist  in  the  Eter- 
nal city. 

Teresa  smiled  sadly  at  Gerard's 
simplicity  in  lea\ang  specimens  of  his 
skill  at  the  doors  of  the  great. 

"  What ! "  said  she  "  without  prom- 
ising the  servants  a  share,  —  without 
even  feeing  them,  —  to  let  the  signers 


278 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


see  thy  merchandise !  As  well  have 
flung  it  into  Tiber." 

"  Well  -  a  -  day !"  sighed  Gerard. 
"  Then  how  is  an  artist  to  find  a 
patron  ?  for  artists  are  poor,  not 
rich." 

"  By  going  to  some  city  nobler  and 
not  so  greedy  as  this,"  said  Teresa. 
"La  corte  Romaua  uon  vuole  pecora 
senza  lana." 

She  fell  into  thought,  and  said  she 
would  come  again  to-morrow. 

The  landlady  felicitated  Gerard. 
"  Teresa  has  got  something  in  her 
head,"  said  she. 

Teresa  was  scarce  gone  when  Pietro 
returned  with  his  picture,  looking 
black  as  thunder.  Gerard  exchanged 
a  glance  with  the  landlady,  and  fol- 
lowed him  up  stairs  to  console  him. 

"What,  have  they  let  thee  bring 
home  thy  masterpiece  ?" 

"As  heretofore." 

"  More  fools  they,  then." 

"That  is  not  the  worst." 

"Why,  what  is  the  matter?" 

"They  have  bought  the  cards," 
yelled  Pietro,  and  hammered  the  air 
furiously  right  and  left. 

"  All  the  better,"  said  Gerard, 
cheerfully. 

"  They  flew  at  me  for  them.  They 
were  enraptured  with  them.  They 
tried  to  conceal  their  longing  for  them, 
but  could  not.  I  saw,  I  feigned,  I 
pillaged  ;  curse  the  boobies." 

And  he  flung  down  a  dozen  small 
silver  coins  on  the  floor,  and  jumped 
on  them,  and  danced  on  them  with 
basilisk  eyes,  and  then  kicked  them 
assiduously,  and  sent  them  spinning 
and  flying,  and  running  all  abroad. 
Down  went  Gerard  on  his  knees  and 
followed  the  maltreated  innocents 
directly,  and  transferred  them  tender- 
ly to  his  purse. 

"  Shouldst  rather  smile  at  their  ig- 
norance, and  put  it  to  profit,"  said 
he. 

"  And  so  I  will,"  said  Pietro,  with 
concentrated  indignation.  "  The 
brutes  !  We  ^vill  paint  a  pack  a  day  ; 
we  will  set  the  whole  city  gambling 
and  ruining  itself,  while  we  live  like 


princes  on  its  vices  and  Bttipiditr. 
There  was  one  of  the  queecig,  though, 
I  had  fain  have  kept  back.  T  was 
you  limned  her,  brother.  She  had 
lovely  red  -  brown  hair  and  sapphire 
eyes,  and,  above  all,  soul." 

"Pietro,"  said  Gerard,  softly,  "I 
painted  that  one  from  my  heart." 

Tiie  quick-witted  Italian  nodded, 
and  his  eyes  twinkled. 

"You  love  her  so  well,  yet  leave 
her  ?" 

"Pietro,  it  is  because  I  love  her  so 
dear,  that  I  have  wandered  all  this 
weary  road." 

This  interesting  colloquy  was  in- 
terrupted by  the  landlady  crying 
from  below,  "Come  down,  you  are 
wanted."  He  went  down,  and  there 
was  Teresa  again. 

"  Come  with  me,  Ser  Gerard." 


CHAPTER  LVIII. 

Gerard  walked  silently  beside 
Teresa,  wondering  in  his  own  mind, 
after  the  manner  of  artists,  what  she 
was  going  to  do  with  him,  instead  of 
asking  her.  So  at  last  she  told  him 
of  her  own  accord.  A  friend  had  in- 
formed her  of  a  working  goldsmith's 
wife  who  wanted  a  writer.  "  Her 
shop  is  hard  by  ;  you  will  not  have 
far  to  go." 

Accordingly  they  soon  arrived  at 
the  goldsmith's  wife. 

"  Madama,"  said  Teresa,  "  Leonora 
tells  me  you  want  a  writer :  I  have 
brought  you  a  beautiful  one.  He 
saved  my  child  at  sea ;  prithee  look 
on  him  with  fiivor." 

The  goldsmith's  wife  complied  in 
one  sense.  She  fixed  her  eyes  on  Ge- 
rard's comely  face,  and  could  hardly 
take  them  off  again ;  but  her  reply 
was  unsatisfactory.  "  Nay,  I  have  no 
use  for  a  WTiter.  Ah !  I  mind  now, 
it  is  my  gossip,  Cltelia,  the  sausage- 
maker,  wants  one ;  she  told  me,  and 
I  told  Leonora." 

Teresa  made  a  courteous  speech 
and  withdrew. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


279 


Clselia  lived  at  some  distance,  and 
when  they  reached  her  lioiisc  she  was 
out.  Teresa  said  calmly,  "  I  will 
await  her  return,"  and  sat  so  still  and 
dignified  and  statuesque,  that  Gerard 
was  beginning  furtively  to  draw  her, 
when  Claelia  returned. 

"  Madama,  I  hear  from  the  gold- 
smith's wife,  the  excellent  Olympia, 
that  you  need  a  writer"  (here  she 
took  Gerard  by  the  hand  and  led  liim 
fonvard) ;  "1  have  brought  you  a 
beautiful  one ;  he  saved  my  child  from 
the  cruel  waves.  For  Our  Lady's  sake, 
look  with  favor  on  him." 

"  My  good  dame,  my  dear  Ser," 
said  Claelia,  "  I  have  no  use  for  a  writ- 
er; but,  now  you  remind  mc,  it  was 
my  friend  Appia  Claudia  asked  me 
for  one  but  the  other  day.  She  is  a 
tailor,  lives  in  the  Via  Lepida." 

Teresa  retired  calmly. 

"  Madama,"  said  Gerard,  "  this  is 
likely  to  be  a  tedious  business  for 
you.  ' 

Teresa  opened  her  eyes. 

"  What  was  ever  done  without  a 
little  patience  f  "  She  added  mildly, 
"  We  will  knock  at  every  door  at 
Eome  but  you  shall  have  justice." 

"  But,  madama,  I  think  we  are 
dogged.  I  noticed  a  man  that  follows 
us,  sometimes  afar,  sometimes  close." 

"  I  have  seen  it,"  said  Teresa,  cold- 
ly; but  her  check  colored  faintly. 
"  It  is  my  poor  Lodovico." 

She  stopped  and  turned,  and  beck- 
oned ■with  her  finger. 

A  figure  approached  them  some- 
what unwillingly. 

When  he  came  up,  she  gazed  him 
full  in  the  face,  and  he  looked  sheep- 
ish. 

"  Lodovico  mio,"  said  she,  "  know 
this  yoving  Ser,  of  whom  I  have  so 
often  spoken  to  thee.  Know  him  and 
love  him,  for  he  it  was  who  saved  thy 
wife  and  child." 

At  these  last  words  Lodovico,  who 
had  been  bowing  and  grinning  artifi- 
cially, suddenly  changed  to  an  expres- 
sion of  heartfelt  gratitude,  and  em- 
braced Gerard  warmly. 

Yet,  somehow,  there  was  something 


in  the  man's  original  manner,  and  his 
having  followed  his  wife  by  stealth, 
that  made  Gerard  uncomfortable  un- 
der this  caress.  However  he  said, 
"  We  shall  have  your  company,  Ser 
Lodovico  1 " 

"  No,  signor,"  replied  Lodovico,  "  I 
go  not  on  that  side  Tiber." 

"  Addio,  then,"  said  Teresa,  signifi- 
cantly. 

"  When  shall  you  return  home,  Te- 
resa mia  ■?  " 

"  When  I  have  done  my  errand, 
Lodovico." 

They  pursued  their  way  in  silence. 
Teresa  now  wore  a  sad  and  almost 
gloomy  air. 

To  be  brief,  Appia  Claudia  was 
merciful,  and  did  not  send  them  over 
Tiber  again,  but  only  a  hundred  yards 
down  the  street  to  Lucretia,  Avho  kept 
the  glove-shop ;  she  it  was  wanted  a 
writer;  but  what  for  Appia  Claudia 
could  not  conceive.  Lucretia  was  a 
merry  little  dame,  who  received  them 
heartily  enough,  and  told  them  she 
wanted  no  writer,  kept  all  her  ac- 
counts in  her  head.  "  It  was  for  my 
confessor.  Father  Colonna ;  he  is  mad 
after  them." 

"  I  have  heard  of  his  excellency," 
said  Teresa. 

"  Who  has  not  ?  " 

"  But,  good  dame,  he  is  a  friar ;  he 
has  made  vow  of  poverty.  I  cannot 
let  the  young  man  write  and  not  be 
paid.     He  saved  my  child  at  sea." 

"  Did  he  now  1  "  And  Lucretia 
cast  an  approving  look  on  Gerard. 
"  Well,  make  your  mind  easy  ;  a  Co- 
lonna never  wants  for  money.  The 
good  father  has  only  to  say  the  word, 
and  the  princes  of  his  race  will  pour 
a  thousand  pounds  into  his  lap.  And 
such  a  confessor,  dame !  the  best  in 
Rome.  His  head  is  leagues  and 
leagues  away  all  the  while  ;  he  never 
heeds  what  you  are  saying.  Why,  I 
think  no  more  of  confessing  my  sins 
to  him  than  of  telling  them  to  that 
wall.  Once,  to  try  him,  I  confessed, 
along  with  the  rest,  as  how  I  had 
killed  my  lodger's  little  girl  and  baked 
her  in  a  pie.     Well,  when  my  voice 


280 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


left  off  confessing,  he  started  out  of 
his  dream,  and  s;iys  he,  a  mustering 
up  a  gloom,  '  My  erring  sister,  say 
three  paternosters  and  three  ave  Ma- 
rias kneeling,  and  eat  no  butter  nor 
eggs  next  Wednesday,  and  pax  vobis- 
cum  ! '  and  off  a  went  with  his  hands 
behind  him,  looking  as  if  there  was  no 
such  thing  as  me  in  the  world." 

Teresa  waited  patiently,  then  calm- 
ly brought  this  discursive  lady  back 
to  the  point :  "  "Would  she  be  so  kind 
as  to  go  with  this  good  youth  to  the 
friar  and  speak  for  him  1  " 

"  Alack !  how  can  I  leave  my  shop  ? 
And  what  needl  His  door  is  aye 
open  to  writers,  and  painters,  and 
scholars,  and  all  such  cattle.  Why, 
one  day  he  would  not  receive  the 
Duke  d'Urbino,  because  a  learned 
Greek  was  closeted  with  him,  and  the 
friar's  head  and  his  so  close  together 
over  a  dusty  pai'chmcnt  just  came  in 
from  Greece,  as  you  could  put  one 
cowl  over  the  pair.  His  wench  Ones- 
ta  told  me.  She  mostly  looks  in  here 
for  a  chat  when  she  goes  an  errand." 

"  This  is  the  man  for  thee,  my 
friend,"  said  Teresa. 

"  All  you  have  to  do,"  continued 
Lucretia,  "is  to  go  to  his  lodgings 
(my  boy  shall  show  them  you),  and 
tell  Onesta  you  came  from  me,  and 
you  are  a  writer,  and  she  will  take 
you  up  to  him.  If  you  put  a  piece 
of  silver  in  the  wench's  hand,  't  will 
do  you  no  harm ;  that  stands  to  rea- 
son." 

"  I  have  silver,"  said  Teresa, 
warmly. 

"  But  stay,"  said  Lucretia,  "  mind 
one  thing.  What  the  young  man 
saith  he  can  do,  that  he  must  be  able 
to  do,  or  let  him  shun  the  good  friar 
like  poison .  He  is  a  very  wild  beast 
ag-ainst  all  bunglers.  Why,  't  was 
but  t'other  day,  one  brought  him  an 
ill-carved  crucifix.  Says  he  :  '  Is  this 
how  you  present  "  Salvator  Mundi "  1 
who  died  for  you  in  mortal  agony ; 
and  you  go  and  grudge  him  careful 
work.  This  slovenly  gimcrack,  a 
crucifix'?  But  that  it  is  a  crucifix  of 
some  sort,  and  I  am  a  holy  man,  I  'd 


dust  your  jacket  with  your  crucifix,* 

says  he.  Onesta  heard  every  word 
through  the  keyhole  ;  s6  mind." 

"  Have  no  fears,  niadama,"  said  Te- 
resa, loftily.  "  I  will  answer  for  his 
ability ;  he  saved  my  child." 

Gerard  was  not  subtle  enough  to 
appreciate  this  conclusion ;  and  was 
so  far  from  sharing  Teresa's  confi- 
dence that  he  begged  a  respite.  He 
would  rather  not  go  to  the  friar  to- 
day ;  would  not  to-morrow  do  as 
well  1 

"  Here  is  a  coward  for  ye,"  said 
Lucretia. 

"  No,  he  is  not  a  coward,"  said 
Teresa,  firing  up.     "  He  is  modest." 

"  I  am  afraid  of  this  high-bom, 
fastidious  friar,"  said  Gerard.  "  Con- 
sider, he  has  seen  the  handiwork  of 
all  the  writers  in  Italy,  dear  Dame 
Teresa  ;  if  you  would  but  let  me  pre- 
pare a  better  piece  of  work  than  yet  I 
have  done,  and  then  to-morrow  I  will 
foce  him  with  it." 

"  I  consent,"  said  Teresa. 

They  walked  home  together. 

Not  far  from  his  own  lodgings  was 
a  shop  that  sold  vellum.  There  was 
a  beautiful  white  skin  in  the  window. 
Gerard  looked  at  it  wistfully  ;  but  he 
knew  he  could  not  pay  for  it,  so  he 
went  on  rather  hastily.  However,  he 
soon  made  up  his  mind  where  to  get 
vellum ;  and,  parting  with  Teresa  at 
his  own  door,  ran  hastily  up  stairs, 
and  took  the  bond  he  had  brought  all 
the  way  from  Sevenbergen,  and  laid 
it  with  a  sigh  on  the  table.  He  then 
prepared  with  his  chemicals  to  erase 
the  old  writing;  but,  as  this  was  his 
last  chance  of  reading  it,  he  now 
overcame  his  deadly  repugnance  to 
bad  writing,  and  proceeded  to  deci- 
pher the  deed  in  spite  of  its  detest- 
able contractions.  It  appeared  by 
this  deed  that  Ghysbreeht  van  Swie- 
ten  was  to  advance  some  money  to 
Floris  Brandt  on  a  piece  of  land,  and 
was  to  repay  himself  out  of  the  rent. 

On  this  Gerard  felt  it  would  be  im- 
prudent and  improper  to  destroy  the 
deed.  On  the  contrary  he  vowed  to 
decipher  every  word   at  his  leisure 


THE   CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


281 


He  went  down  stairs,  determined  to 
buy  a  small  piece  of  vellum  with  his 
half  of  the  card  money. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  stairs  he 
fouud  the  landlady  and  Teresa  talk- 
injr-  At  sight  of  him  the  former 
cried  :  "  Here  he  is.  You  are  caught, 
danna  mia.  See  what  she  has  bought 
you  !  "  and  \yhipped  out  from  un- 
der her  apron  the  very  skin  of  vellum 
Gerard  had  longed  for. 

"  Why,  dame !  why,  donna  Te- 
resa !  "  And  he  was  speecldess,  with 
pleasure  and  astonishment. 

"  Dear  donna  Teresa,  there  is  not 
a  skin  in  all  Home  like  it.  How  ever 
came  you  to  liit  on  this  one  ?  'T  is 
glamour." 

"  Alas,  dear  boy,  did  not  thine  eye 
rest  on  it  with  desire  1  and  didst  thou 
not  sigh  in  turning  away  from  it  1 
and  was  it  for  Teresa  to  let  thee  want 
the  thing  after  that '?  " 

"  What  sagacity  !  what  goodness, 
madania !  O  dame,  I  never  thought  I 
should  possess  this.  What  did  you 
pay  for  it  1  " 

"  I  forget.  Addio,  Flimmina.  Ad- 
dio,  Ser  Gerard.  Be  happy,  be  pros- 
perous, as  you  are  good."  And  the 
Roman  matron  glided  away,  while  Ge- 
rard was  hesitating,  and  thinking 
how  to  offer  to  pay  so  stately  a  crea- 
ture for  her  purchase. 

The  next  day  in  the  afternoon  he 
went  to  Lucretia,  and  her  boy  took 
him  to  Fra  Colonna's  lodgings.  He 
announced  his  business  and  feed  Ones- 
ta,  and  she  took  him  up  to  the  friar. 
Gerard  entered  with  a  beating  heart. 
The  room,  a  large  one,  was  strewed 
and  heaped  with  objects  of  art,  antiq- 
uity, and  learning,  lying  about  in 
rich  profusion  and  confusion.  Manu- 
scripts, pictures,  canings  in  wood  and 
ivory,  musical  instniments  ;  and  in 
this  glorious  chaos  sat  the  friar,  por- 
ing intently  over  an  Arabian  manu- 
script. 

lie  looked  up  a  little  peevishly  at 
the  interruption.  Onesta  whispered 
in  his  ear. 

"  Very  well,"  said  he.     "  Let  him 


be  seated.  Stay  ;  young  man,  show 
me  how  you  write  !  "  And  he  threw 
Gerard  a  piece  of  i)aper,  and  pointed 
to  an  inkhorn. 

"  So  jjlcase  you,  reverend  father," 
said  Gerard,  "  my  hand,  it  trembleth 
too  much  at  this  moment ;  but  last 
night  I  wrote  a  vellum  page  of  Greek, 
and  the  Latin  version  by  its  side,  to 
show  the  various  character." 

"  Show  it  me  !  " 

Gerard  brought  the  work  to  him  in 
fear  and  trembling ;  then  stood,  heart- 
sick, awaiting  his  verdict. 

When  it  came  it  staggered  him. 
For  the  verdict  was,  a  Dominican 
falling  on  his  neck. 


CHAPTER  LDC. 

Happy  the  man  who  has  two  chain- 
cables,  —  Merit  and  Women. 

0  that  I,  like  Gerard,  had  a  "  chaino 
des  dames  "  to  pull  up  by. 

1  would  be  prose-laureate,  or  pro- 
fessor of  the  spasmodic,  or  something, 
in  no  time.  En  attendant,  I  will 
sketch  the  Fra  Colonna. 

The  true  revivers  of  ancient  learn- 
ing and  philosophy  were  two  writers 
of  fiction,  —  Petrarch  and  Boccac- 
cio. 

Their  labors  were  not  crowned  with 
great,  public,  and  immediate  success ; 
but  they  sowed  the  good  seed  ;  and  it 
never  perished,  but  quickened  in  the 
soil,  awaiting  sunshine. 

From  their  day  Italy  was  never 
without  a  native  scholar  or  two, 
versed  in  Greek ;  and  each  learned 
Greek  who  landed  there  was  received 
fraternally.  The  fourteenth  century, 
ere  its  close,  saw  the  birth  of  Poggio, 
Valla,  and  the  elder  Guarino ;  and 
early  in  the  fifteenth  Florence  under 
Cosmo  de  Medici  was  a  nest  of  Pla- 
tonists.  These,  headed  by  Gemistus 
Pletho,  a  born  Greek,  began,  about 
A.  D.  1440,  to  write  down  Aristotle. 
For  few  minds  are  big  enough  to  ba 
just  to  great  A  without  being  unjust 
to  capital  B. 


282 


THE   CLOISTER  AND   THE  HEARTH. 


Theodore  Gaza  defended  that  great 
man  with  moderation ;  George  of 
Trebizond  with  acerbity,  and  retorted 
on  Plato.  Then  Cardinal  Bessarion, 
another  born  Greek,  resisted  the  said 
George,  and  his  idol,  in  a  tract  "  Ad- 
versus  calurauiatorem  Platonis." 

Pugnacity,  whether  wise  or  not,  is 
a  form  of  vitality.  Bom  without 
controversial  bile  in  so  zealous  an 
epoch,  Francesco  Colonna,  a  young 
nobleman  of  Florence,  lived  for  the 
arts.  At  twenty  he  turned  Domini- 
can friar.  His  object  was  quiet  study. 
He  retired  from  idle  company,  and 
faction  fights,  the  humming  and  the 
stinging  of  the  human  hive,  to  St. 
Dominic  and  the  Nine  Muses. 

An  eager  student  of  languages, 
pictures,  statues,  chronology,  coins, 
and  monumental  inscriptions.  These 
last  loosened  his  faith  in  popular  his- 
tories. 

He  travelled  many  years  in  the 
East,  and  returned  laden  with  spoils  ; 
master  of  several  choice  MSS.,  and 
versed  in  Greek  and  Latin,  Hebrew 
and  Syriac.  He  found  his  country  had 
not  stood  still.  Other  lettered  princes 
besides  Cosmo  had  sprung  up.  Alfon- 
so, King  of  Naples,  Nicholas  d'Este, 
Lionel  d'Este,  &c.  Above  all,  his  old 
friend  Thomas  of  Sarzana  had  been 
made  pope,  and  had  lent  a  mighty 
impulse  to  letters ;  had  accumulated 
5,000  MSS.  in  the  library  of  the  Vat- 
ican, and  had  set  Poggio  to  translate 
Diodorus  Siculus  and  Xenophon's 
Cyrop£cdia,  Laurentius  Valla  to  trans- 
late Herodotus  and  Thucydides,  The- 
odore Gaza,  Theophrastus,  George  of 
Trebizond,  Eusebius,  and  certain  trea- 
tises of  Plato,  etc.,  etc. 

The  monk  found  Plato  and  Aris- 
totle under  armistice,  but  Poggio  and 
Valla  at  loggerheads  over  verbs  and 
nouns,  and  on  fire  v,-iih  odium  philo- 
logicum.  All  this  was  heaven  ;  and 
he  settled  down  in  his  native  land,  his 
life  a  rosy  dream.  None  so  happy  as 
the  versatile,  provided  they  have  not 
their  bread  to  make  by  it.  And  Fra 
Colonna  was  versatility.  He  knew 
seven  or  eight  languages,  and  a  little 


mathematics  ;  could  write  a  bif,  paint 
a  bit,  model  a  bit,  sing  a  bit,  strum  a 
bit ;  and  could  relish  superior  excel- 
lence in  all  these  branches.  For  this 
last  trait  he  desei-ved  to  be  as  happy 
as  he  was.  For,  gauge  the  intellects 
of  your  acquaintances,  and  you  will 
find  but  few  whose  minds  are  neither 
deaf,  nor  blind,  nor  dead  to  some 
great  art  or  science, 

"And  wisdom  at  one  entrance  quite  shut  out." 

And  such  of  them  as  are  conceited  as 
well  as  stupid  shall  even  parade,  in- 
stead of  blushing  for,  the  holes  in 
their  intellects. 

A  zealot  in  art,  the  friar  was  a 
sceptic  in  religion. 

In  every  age  there  are  a  few  men 
who  hold  the  opinions  of  another  age, 
past  or  future.  Being  a  lump  of  sim- 
plicity, his  scepticism  was  as  naff  as 
his  enthusiasm.  He  aflFected  to  look 
on  the  religious  ceremonies  of  his 
day  as  his  models,  the  heathen  phi- 
losophers, regarded  the  worship  of 
gods  and  departed  heroes ;  mum- 
meries good  for  the  populace.  But 
here  his  mind  drew  unconsciously  a 
droll  distinction.  Whatever  Christian 
ceremony  his  learning  taught  him  was 
of  purely  pagan  origin,  that  he  re- 
spected, out  of  respect  for  antiquity  ; 
though  had  he,  Avith  his  turn  of  mind, 
been  a  pagan  and  its  contemporary,  he 
would  have  scorned  it  from  his  phiIo= 
sophic  heights. 

Fra  Colonna  was  charmed  with  his 
new  artist,  and,  having  the  run  of  half 
the  palaces  in  Rome,  sounded  his 
praises  so,  that  he  was  soon  called 
upon  to  resign  him.  He  told  Gerard 
what  great  princes  wanted  him.  "But 
I  am  so  happy  with  you,  father,"  ob- 
jected Gerard.  "  Fiddlestick  about 
being  happy  with  me,"  said  Fra  Co- 
lonna, "  you  must  not  be  happy  ;  you 
must  be  a  man  of  the  world  :  the 
grand  lesson  I  impress  on  the  young 
is,  be  a  man  of  the  world.  Now 
these  Montcsini  can  pay  you  three 
times  as  mucli  as  I  can,  and  they  shall 
too, — by  Jupiter." 

And  the  friar  clapped  a  terrific  price 


THE  CLOISTER  AND   THE  HEARTH. 


283 


on  Gerard's  pen.  It  was  acceded  to 
without  a  murmur.  Much  higher 
prices  were  going  for  copying  than  au- 
thorship ever  obtained  for  centuries  un- 
der the  printing-press. 

Gerard  had  three  hundred  crowns 
for  Aristotle's  treatise  on  rhetoric. 

The  great  are  mighty  sweet  upon 
their  pets,  while  the  fancy  lasts  ;  and 
in  the  rage  for  Greek  MSS.  the  hand- 
some writer  soon  became  a  pet,  and 
nobles  of  both  sexes  caressed  him  like 
a  lapdog. 

It  would  have  turned  a  vain  fel- 
low's head ;  but  the  canny  Dutch- 
man saw  the  steel  hand  beneath  the 
velvet  glove,  and  did  not  presume. 
Nevertheless  it  was  a  proud  day  for 
him  when  he  found  himself  seated 
with  Fra  Colonna  at  the  table  of  his 
present  employer.  Cardinal  Bessarion. 
They  were  about  a  mile  from  the  top 
of  that  table,  but,  never  mind,  there 
they  were  ;  and  Gerard  had  the  ad- 
vantage of  seeing  roast  pheasants 
dished  up  with  all  their  feathers  as  if 
they  had  just  flown  out  of  a  coppice 
instead  of  off  the  spit ;  also  chickens 
cooked  in  bottles,  and  tender  as 
peaches.  But  the  grand  novelty  was 
the  napkins,  surpassingly  fine,  and 
folded  into  cocked  hats,  and  birds' 
wings,  and  fans,  etc.,  instead  of  lying 
flat.  This  electrified  Gerard  ;  though 
my  readers  have  seen  the  dazzling 
phenomenon  without  tumbling  back- 
wards chair  and  all. 

After  dinner  the  tables  were  split 
in  pieces,  and  carried  away,  and  lo  ! 
under  each  was  another  table  spread 
with  sweetmeats.  The  signoras  and 
signorinas  fell  upon  them  and  gor- 
mandized ;  but  the  signors  eyed  them 
with  reasonable  suspicion. 

"  But,  dear  father,"  objected  Ge- 
rard, "  I  see  not  the  bifureal  dag- 
gers, with  which  men  say  his  ex- 
cellency armeth  the  left  hand  of  a 
man." 

"Nay,  'tis  the  Cardinal  Orsini 
which  hath  invented  yon  peevish 
instrument  for  his  guests  to  fumble 
their  meat  withal.  One,  being  in 
haste,  did  skewer  his  tongue  to  his 


palate  with  it,  I  hear.  O  tempera,  O 
mores  !  The  ancients,  reclining  god- 
like at  their  feasts,  how  had  they 
spurned  such  pedantries." 

As  soon  as  the  ladies  had  disported 
themselves  among  the  sugar-plums, 
the  tables  were  suddenly  removal,  and 
the  guests  sat  in  a  row  against  the 
wall.  Then  came  in,  ducking  and 
scraping,  two  ecclesiastics  with  lutes, 
and  kneeled  at  the  cardinal's  feet,  and 
there  sang  the  service  of  the  day,  then 
retired  with  a  deep  obeisance :  in  an- 
swer to  which  the  cardinal  fingered 
his  skull-cap  as  our  late  Iron  Duke 
his  hat ;  the  company  dispersed,  and 
Gerard  had  dined  with  a  cardinal, 
and  one  that  had  thrice  just  missed 
being  a  pope. 

But  greater  honor  wa."?  in  store. 

One  day  the  cardinal  sent  for  him, 
and  after  praising  the  beauty  of  his 
work,  took  him  in  his  coach  to  the 
Vatican  ;  and  up  a  private  stair  to  a 
luxurious  little  room,  with  a  great 
oriel  window.  Here  were  inkstands, 
sloping  frames  for  writing  on,  and  all 
the  instnmicnts  of  art.  'The  cardinal 
whispered  a  courtier,  and  presently 
the  pope's  private  secretary  appeared 
with  a  glorious  grimy  old  MS.  of 
Plutarch's  Lives.  And  soon  Gerard 
was  seated  alone  copying  it,  awe- 
struck, yet  half  delighted  at  the 
thought  that  his  holiness  would 
handle  his  work  and  read  it. 

The  papal  inkstands  were  all  glo- 
rious externally,  but  within  the  ink 
was  vile.  But  Gerard  carried  ever 
good  ink,  home-made,  in  a  dirty  little 
inkhorn  ;  he  prayed  on  his  knees  for 
a  firm  and  skilful  hand,  and  set  to 
work. 

One  side  of  his  room  was  nearly 
occupied  by  a  massive  curtain  divided 
in  the  centre ;  but  its  ample  folds 
overlapped.  After  a  while,  Gerard 
felt  drawn  to  peep  through  that  cur- 
tain. He  resisted  the  impulse.  It 
returned.  It  overpowered  him.  He 
left  Plutarch,  stole  across  the  matted 
floor,  took  the  folds  of  the  curtain, 
and  gently  gathered  them  up  with  his 
fingers,  and  putting  his  nose  through 


284 


THE   CLOISTER  AND   THE  HEARTH. 


the  chink  ran  it  against  a  cold  steel 
halbert.  Two  soldiers,  armed  cap-a- 
pie,  were  holding  their  glittering 
weapons  crossed  in  a  triangle.  Ge- 
rard drew  swiftly  back ;  but  in  that 
instant  he  heard  the  soft  mnrmcr 
of  voices,  and  saw  a  group  of  per- 
sons cringing  before  some  hidden 
figure. 

He  never  repeated  his  attempt  to 
pry  through  the  guarded  curtain, 
but  often  eyed  it.  Every  hour  or  so 
an  ecclesiastic  peeped  in,  eyed  him, 
chilled  him,  and  exit.  All  this  was 
gloomy  and  mechanical.  But  the 
next  day  a  gentleman,  richly  anned, 
bounced  in,  and  glared  at  him.  "  What 
is  toward  here  ?  "  said  he. 

Gerard  told  him  he  was  writing  out 
Plutarch,  with  the  help  of  the  saints. 
The  spark  said  he  did  not  know  the 
Signor  in  question.  Gerard  explained 
the  circumstances  of  time  and  space 
that  had  deprived  the  Signor  Plutarch 
of  the  advantage  of  the  spark's  con- 
versation. 

"  O,  one  of  those  old  dead  Greeks 
they  keep  such  a  coil  about." 

"  Ay,  signor,  one  of  them,  who, 
being  dead,  yet  live." 

"  I  understand  you  not,  young 
man,"  said  the  noble,  with  all  the 
dignity  of  ignorance.  "  What  did 
the  old  fellow  write  f  Love  stories  ?  " 
and  his  eyes  sparkled,  —  "  merry  tales 
like  Boccaccio  ?  " 

"  Nay,  lives  of  heroes  and  sages." 

"  Soldiers  and  popes  ?  " 

"  Soldiers  and  princes." 

"  Wilt  read  me  of  them  some  day  ?  " 

"  And  willingly,  signor.  But  what 
would  they  say  who  employ  me,  were 
I  to  break  oft'  work  ?  " 

"  O,  never  heed  that ;  know  you 
not  who  I  am  ?  I  am  Jacques  Bona- 
ventura,  nephew  to  his  holiness  the 
pope,  and  captain  of  his  guards. 
And  I  came  here  to  look  after  my 
fellows.  I  trow  they  have  turned 
them  out  of  their  room  for  you." 
Signor  Bonaventura  then  hurried 
away.  This  lively  companion  how- 
ever having  acquired  a  habit  of  run- 
ning into  that  little  room,  and  finding 


Gerard  good  company,  often  looked 
in  on  him,  and  chattered  ephemerali- 
tics  while  Gerard  wrote  the  immortal 
lives. 

One  day  he  came,  a  changed  and 
moody  man,  and  threw  himself  into  a 
chair,  crying,  "  Ah,  traitress !  trai- 
tress ! "  Gerard  inquired  what  was 
his  ill.  "  Traitress  !  traitress  !  "  was 
the  reply.  Whereupon  Gerard  wrote 
Plutarch.  Then  says  Bonaventura; 
"  I  am  melancholy ;  and  for  our  La- 
dy's sake  read  me  a  story  out  of  Ser 
Plutarcho,  to  soothe  my  bile :  in  all 
that  Greek  is  there  naught  about 
lovers  betrayed  ?  " 

Gerard  read  him  the  life  of  Alexan- 
der. He  got  excited,  marched  about 
the  room,  and,  embracing  the  reader, 
vowed  to  shun  "  soft  delights,"  that 
bed  of  nettles,  and  follow  glory. 

Who  so  happy  now  as  Gerard  ? 
His  art  was  honored,  and  fabulous 
prices  paid  for  it;  in  a  year  or  two 
he  should  return  by  sea  to  Holland, 
with  good  store  of  money,  and  set  up 
with  his  beloved  Margaret  in  Bruges, 
or  Antwerp,  or  dear  Augsburg,  and 
end  their  days  in  peace,  and  love,  and 
healthy,  happy  labor.  His  heart 
never  strayed  an  instant  from  her. 

In  his  prosperity  he  did  not  forget 
poor  Pietro.  He  took  the  Fra  Co- 
lonna  to  see  his  picture.  The  friar 
inspected  it  severely  and  closely,  fell 
on  the  artist's  neck,  and  carried  the 
picture  to  one  of  the  Colonnas,  who 
gave  a  noble  price  for  it. 

Pietro  descended  to  the  first  floor ; 
and  lived  like  a  gentleman. 

But  Gerard  remained  in  his  garret. 
To  increase  his  expenses  would  have 
been  to  postpone  his  return  to  Mar- 
garet. Luxury  had  no  charms  for 
the  single-hearted  one,  when  opposed 
to  love. 

Jacques  Bonaventura  made  him 
acquainted  with  other  gay  young 
fellows.  They  loved  him,  and  sought 
to  entice  him  into  vice,  and  other 
expenses.  But  he  begged  humbly 
to  be  excused.  So  he  escaped  that 
temptation.  But  a  greater  Avas  be- 
hind. 


THE  CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


285 


CHAPTER  LX. 

Fra  Colonna  had  the  run  of  the 
pope's  hbrarj',  and  soniotiincs  left  ort' 
work  at  the  same  hour  and  walked 
the  city  with  Gerard  ;  on  which  occa- 
sions the  happy  artist  saw  all  tliin<;s 
en  beau,  and  was  wrapped  up  in  the 
grandeur  of  Rome  and  its  churches, 
palaces,  and  ruins. 

The  friar  granted  the  ruins,  but 
threw  cold  water  on  the  rest. 

"  This  place  Rome  ?  It  is  but  tlic 
tomb  of  mighty  Rome."  He  showed 
Gerard  that  twenty  or  thirty  feet  of 
the  old  triumphal  arches  were  under- 
ground, and  that  the  modern  streets 
ran  over  ancient  palaces  ;  and  over 
the  tops  of  columns ;  and  coupling 
this  with  the  comparatively  narrow 
limits  of  the  modern  city,  and  the  gi- 
gantic vestiges  of  antiquity  that  peeped 
aboveground  here  and  there,  he  ut- 
tered a  somewhat  remarkable  simile  : 
"  I  tell  thee  this  village  they  call 
Rome  is  but  as  one  of  those  swallows' 
nests  ye  shall  see  built  on  the  eaves 
of  a  decayed  abbey." 

"  Old  Rome  must  indeed  have  been 
fair  then,"  said  Gerard. 

"  Judge  for  yourself,  my  son ;  you 
see  the  great  .sewer,  the  work  of  the 
Romans  in  their  very  childhood,  and 
shall  outlast  Vesuvius.  You  see  the 
fragments  of  the  Temple  of  Peace. 
How  would  you  look  could  you  see  also 
the  Capitol  with  its  five-and-twenty 
temples  ?  Do  but  note  this  Monte 
Savello  :  what  is  it,  an  it  please  you, 
but  the  ruins  of  the  ancient  theatre 
of  Marcellus  ?  and  as  for  Testacio, 
one  of  the  highest  hills  in  modern 
Rome,  it  is  but  an  ancient  dust-heap  ; 
the  women  of  old  Rome  flung  their 
broken  pots  and  pans  there,  and  lo, 
a  mountain. 

'  Ex  pede  Ilerculem  ;  ex  ungue  leonem.'  •' 

Gerard  listened  respectfully,  but, 
when  the  holy  friar  proceeded  by 
analogy  to  imply  that  the  moral  su- 
periority of  the  heathen  Romans  was 
proportionably  grand,  he  resisted 
atoutly.      "  Ilas  then  the  world  lost 


by  Christ  his  coming  1"  said  he; 
but  blushed,  for  he  felt  himself  ro< 
proaching  his  benefactor. 

"  Saints  forbid  !  "  said  the  friar. 
"  'T  were  heresy  to  say  so."  And, 
having  made  this  direct  concession, 
he  jn-oceedcd  gradually  to  evade  it  by 
subtle  circumlocution,  and  reached 
the  forbidden  door  by  the  spiral  back 
staircase.  In  the  midst  of  all  which 
they  came  to  a  church  with  a  knot  of 
persons  in  the  porch.  A  demon  was 
being  exorcised  within.  Now  Fra 
Colonna  had  a  way  of  uttering  a  cu- 
rious sort  of  little  moan,  when  things 
Zeno  or  Epicurus  would  not  have 
swallowed  were  presented  to  him  as 
facts.  This  moan  conveyed  to  such 
as  had  often  heard  it,  not  only  strong 
dissent,  but  pity  for  human  credulity, 
ignorance,  and  error,  especially  of 
course  when  it  blinded  men  to  the 
merits  of  Pagandom. 

The  friar  moaned,  and  said,  "  Then 
come  away." 

"  Nay,  father,  prithee  !  prithee  !  I 
ne'er  saw  a  divell  cast  out." 

The  friar  accompanied  Gerard  into 
the  church,  but  had  a  good  shrug 
first.  There  they  found  the  demo- 
niac forced  down  on  his  knees  before 
the  altar,  with  a  scarf  tied  round  his 
neck,  by  which  the  officiating  priest 
held  him  like  a  dog  in  a  chain. 

Not  many  persons  were  present, 
for  fame  had  put  forth  that  the  last 
demon  cast  out  in  that  church  went 
no  farther  than  into  one  of  the  com- 
pany ;  "  as  a  cony  ferreted  out  of  one 
burrow  runs  to  the  next." 

When  Gerard  and  the  friar  came 
up,  the  priest  seemed  to  think  there 
were  now  spectators  enough,  and  be- 
gan. 

He  faced  the  demoniac,  breviary  in 
hand,  and  first  set  himself  to  learn 
the  individual's  name  with  whom  he 
had  to  deal. 

"  Come  out,  Ashtaroth.  Oho  !  it  la 
not  you  then.  Come  out,  Belial. 
Come  out,  Tatzi.  Come  out,  Ezra. 
No  :  he  trembles  not.  Come  out, 
Azymoth.  Come  out,  Feriander. 
Come  out,  Foletho.     Come  out.  As. 


286 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


tyma.  Come  out,  Ncbul.  Aha  ! 
what,  have  I  found  yc  ?  't  is  thou, 
thou  reptile  :  at  thine  old  tricks.  Let 
us  pray :  — 

"  O  God,  we  pray  thee  to  drive  the 
foul  fiend  Ncbul  out  of  this  thy  crea- 
ture ;  out  of  his  hair,  and  his  eyes, 
out  of  his  nose,  out  of  his  mouth, 
out  of  his  ears,  out  of  his  gums,  out 
of  his  teeth,  out  of  his  shoulders,  out 
of  his  arms,  legs,  loins,  stomach, 
bowels,  thighs,  knees,  calves,  feet, 
ankles,  finger-nails,  toe  -  nails,  and 
soul.     Amen." 

The  priest  then  rose  from  his  knees, 
and  turning  to  the  company  said, 
with  quiet  geniality  :  "  Gentles,  we 
have  here  as  obstinate  a  divell  as  you 
may  see  in  a  summer  day."  Then, 
facing  the  patient,  he  spoke  to  him 
with  great  rigor,  sometimes  address- 
ing the  man,  and  sometimes  the  fiend, 
and  they  answered  him  in  turn 
through  the  same  mouth,  now  say- 
ing that  they  hated  those  holy  names 
the  priest  kept  uttering,  and  now 
complaining  they  did  feel  so  bad  in 
their  inside. 

It  was  the  priest  who  first  con- 
founded the  victim  and  the  culprit  in 
idea,  by  pitching  into  the  former, 
cuffing  him  soundly,  kicking  him, 
and  spitting  repeatedly  in  his  face. 
Then  he  took  a  candle  and  lighted  it, 
and  turned  it  down,  and  burned  it 
till  it  burned  his  fingers,  when  he 
dropped  it  double  quick.  Then  took 
the  custodial,  and  showed  the  patient 
the  Corpus  Domini  within.  Then 
burned  another  candle  as  before,  but 
more  cautiously :  then  spoke  civilly 
to  the  demoniac  in  his  human  char- 
acter, dismissed  him,  and  received 
the  compliments  of  the  company. 

"  Good  father,"  said  Gerard,  "  how 
yon  have  their  names  by  heart.  Our 
northern  priests  have  no  such  ex- 
quisite knowledge  of  the  hellish 
squadrons." 

"  Ay,  young  man,  here  we  know 
all  their  names,  and  eke  their  ways, 
the  reptiles.  This  Nebul  is  a  bitter 
hard  one  to  hunt  out." 

He  then  told  the  company  in  the 


most  affable  way  several  of  his  c* 
periences  ;  concluding  with  his  feat 
of  yesterday,  when  he  drove  a  great 
hulking  fiend  out  of  a  woman  by  her 
mouth,  leaving  behind  him  certain 
nails,  and  pins,  and  a  tuft  of  his  own 
hair,  and  cried  out  in  a  voice  of  an- 
guish :  "  'T  is  not  thou  that  conquers 
me.  See  that  stone  on  the  window- 
sill.  Know  that  the  angel  Gabriel 
coming  down  to  earth  once  lighted 
on  that  stone :  't  is  that  has  done  my 
business." 

The  friar  moaned.  "  And  you  be- 
lieved him  ? " 

"  Certes  !  who  but  an  infidel  had 
discredited  a  revelation  so  precise  1  " 

"  What,  believe  the  father  of  lies  ? 
That  is  pushing  credulity  beyond  the 
age." 

"  O,  a  liar  does  not  always  lie." 

"  Ay,  doth  he  whenever  he  tells  an 
improbable  story  to  begin,  and  shows 
you  a  holy  relic ;  arms  you  against 
the  Satanic  host.  Fiends  (if  any)  be 
not  SO  simple.  Shouldst  have  an- 
swered him  out  of  antiquity  :  — 

'  Timeo  Danaos  et  dona  fcrentcs.' 

Some  blackguard  chopped  his  wife's 
head  off  on  that  stone,  young  man ; 
you  take  my  word  for  it."  And 
the  friar  hurried  Gerard  away. 

"  Alack,  father,  I  fear  you  abashed 
the  good  priest." 

"  Ay,  by  Pollux,"  said  the  friar, 
with  a  chuckle, "  I  bhstered  him  with 
a  single  touch  of  '  Socratic  interroga- 
tion.' What  modem  can  parry  the 
weapons  of  antiquity  1 " 

One  afternoon,  when  Gerard  had 
finished  his  day's  work,  a  fine  lack- 
ey came  and  demanded  his  attend- 
ance at  the  palace  Cesarini.  Ho 
went  and  was  ushered  into  a  noble 
apartment ;  there  was  a  girl  seated  in 
it,  working  on  a  tapestry.  She  rose 
and  left  the  room,  and  said  she  would 
let  her  mistress  know. 

A  good  hour  did  Gerard  cool  his 
heels  in  that  great  room,  and  at  last 
he  began  to  fret.  "  These  nobles 
think    nothing    of   a    poor    fellow's 


THE  CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


287 


time."  However,  just  as  he  was 
making  up  his  mind  to  slip  out,  and 
go  about  his  business,  the  door  opened, 
and  a  superb  beauty  entered  the  room, 
followed  by  two  maids.  It  was  the 
young  princess  of  the  house  of  Ces- 
arini.  She  came  in  talking  rather 
loudly  and  haughtily  to  her  depend- 
ants, but  at  sight  of  Gerard  low- 
ered her  voice  to  a  very  feminine 
tone,  and  said  :  "  Are  you  the  writer, 
messer  ^  " 

"  I  am.  signora." 

"  'T  is  well."  She  then  seated  her- 
self ;  Gerard  and  her  maids  remained 
standing. 

"  What  is  jour  name,  good 
youth  ?  " 

"  Gerard,  signora." 

"  Gerard  ?  body  of  Bacchus  !  is 
that  the  name  of  a  human  creature  1 " 

"  It  is  a  Dutch  name,  signora.  I 
was  bom  at  Tergou,  in  Holland." 

"  A  harsh  name,  girls,  for  so  well- 
favored  a  youth  ;  what  say  you  ?  " 

The  maids  assented  warmly. 

"  Wlu\t  did  I  send  for  him  for "?  " 
inquired  the  lady,  with  lofty  languor. 
*'Ah,  I  remember.  Be  seated,  Ser 
Gerardo,  and  write  me  a  letter  to 
Ercolc  Orsini,  my  lover ;  at  least  he 
says  so." 

Gerard  seated  himself,  took  out 
paper  and  ink,  and  looked  up  to  the 
princess  for  instructions. 

She,  seated  on  a  much  higher  chair, 
almost  a  throne,  looked  down  at  him 
with  eves  equally  inquiring. 

"  Well,  Gerardo  ?  " 

"  I  am  ready,  your  excellence." 

"  Write  then." 

"  I  but  await  the  words." 

"  And  who,  think  you,  is  to  pro- 
vide them.  ?  " 

"  Who  but  your  grace,  whose  letter 
it  is  to  be." 

"  Gramercy !  what,  you  writers, 
find  you  not  the  words  1  What  avails 
your  art  without  the  words  1  doubt  I 
you  arc  an  impostor,  Gerardo." 

"  Nay,  signora,  I  am  none.  I  might 
make  %liift  to  put  your  highness's 
s^jcech  into  gr.auiniar  as  well  as  writ- 
ing. But  I  cannot  interpret  your 
13 


silence.  Therefore  speak  what  is  in 
your  heart,  and  I  will  enipaper  it  be- 
fore your  eyes." 

"But  there  is  nothing  in  my  heart. 
And  sometimes  I  think  I  have  got  no 
heart." 

"  What  is  in  your  mind  then  ?  " 

"  But  there  is  nothing  in  my  mind, 
nor  my  head  neither." 

"  Then  why  write  at  all  ?  " 

"  Wliy,  indeed  ?  That  is  the  first 
word  of  sense  either  you  or  I  have 
spoken,  Gerardo.  Pestilence  seize  him! 
why  writeth  he  not  first  7  then  I  could 
say  nay  to  this,  and  ay  to  that,  with- 
outen  headache.  Also  is  it  a  lady's 
part  to  say  the  first  word  1 " 

"  No,  signora  :  the  last." 

"  It  is  well  spoken,  Gerardo.  Ha  ! 
ha !  Shalt  have  a  gold  piece  for  thy 
wit.  Give  me  my  purse  !  "  And  she 
paid  him  for  the  article  on  the  nail  a 
la  moyen  age.  Money  never  yet 
chilled  zeal.  Gerard,  after  getting  a 
gold  ]iiece  so  cheap,  felt  bound  to  pull 
her  out  of  her  difiicnlty,  if  the  wit  of 
man  might  achieve  it.  "  Siguurina," 
said  he,  "  these  things  are  only  hard 
because  folk  attempt  too  much,  arc 
artificial  and  labor  phrases.  Do  but 
figure  to  yourself  the  signer  you 
love  —  " 

"  I  love  him  not." 

^  Well,  then  the  signer  you  love 
not,  seated  at  this  table,  and  diet 
to  me  just  what  you  would  say  to 
him." 

"  Well,  if  he  sat  there,  I  should  say, 
'  Go  away.' " 

Gerard,  who  was  flourishing  his  pen 
by  way  of  preparation,  laid  it  down 
with  a  groan. 

"  And  when  he  was  gone,"  said 
Floretta,  "your  highness  would  say, 
'  Come  back.' " 

"  Likely  enough,  wench.  Now, 
silence  all,  and  let  me  think.  He 
pestered  me  to  write,  and  I  promised  ; 
so  mine  honor  is  engaged.  What  lie 
shall  I  tell  the  Gerardo  to  tell  the 
fool !  "  and  she  turned  her  head  away 
from  them,  and  fell  into  deep  thought, 
with  her  noble  chin  resting  on  her 
white  hand,  half  clenched. 


288 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


She  was  so  lovely  and  statuesque, 
and  looked  so  inspired  with  thoughts 
celestial,  as  she  sat  tlius,  impregnat- 
ing herself  with  mendacity,  that  Ge- 
rard forgot  all,  except  art,  and  proceed- 
ed eagerly  to  transfer  that  exquisite 
profile  to  pa])er. 

He  had  very  nearly  finished  when 
the  fair  statue  turned  brusquely  round 
and  looked  al  him. 

"  Nay,  signora,"  said  he,  a  little 
peevishly,  "  for  Heaven's  sake  change 
not  your  posture  ;  't  was  perfect.  See, 
you  arc  nearly  finished." 

All  eyes  were  instantly  on  the  work, 
and  all  tongues  active.  "  How  like  ! 
and  done  in  a  minute :  nay,  methinks 
her  highncss's  chin  is  not  quite 
so  — " 

"  0,  a  touch  will  make  that 
right." 

"  What  a  pity  't  is  not  colored. 
I'm  all  for  colors.  Hang  black  aiul 
white  !  And  her  highness  hath  such 
a  lovely  skin.  Take  away  her  skin 
and  half  her  beauty  is  lost." 

"  Peace.  Can  you  color,  Scr  Gc- 
rardo  ?  " 

"  Ay,  signorina.  I  am  a  poor  hand 
at  oils  ;  there  shines  my  friend  Pietro ; 
but  in  this  small  v/ay  I  can  tint  you 
to  the  life,  if  you  have  time  to  waste 
on  such  vanity." 

"  Call  you  this  vanity  ?  And 
for  time,  it  hangs  on  me  like  lead. 
Send  for  your  colors  now,  —  quick,  — 
this  moment,  —  for  love  of  all  the 
saints." 

"Nay,  signorina,  I  must  prepare 
them.  I  could  come  at  the  same  time 
to-morrow." 

"  So  be  it.  And  you,  Florctta,  see 
that  he  be  admitted  at  all  hours. 
AJack !  leave  my  head !  leave  my 
head ! " 

"  Forgive  me,  signora ;  I  thought 
to  prepare  it  at  home  to  receive  the 
colors.  But  I  will  leave  it.  And  now 
let  us  despatch  the  letter." 

"  What  letter  ■?  " 

"  To  the  Signer  Orsini." 

"  And  shall  I  waste  my  time  on 
such  vanity  as  writing  letters,  —  and 
to  that  empty  creature,  to  whom  I  am 


as  indifferent  as  the  moon  ?  Nay,  not 
indifferent,  for  I  have  just  discovered 
my  real  sentiments.  I  hate  him  and 
despise  him.  Girls,  I  here  forbid  you 
once  for  all  to  mention  that  signor's 
name  to  me  again  ;  else  I  '11  whip  you 
till  the  blood  comes.  You  know  how  I 
can  lay  on  when  I  'm  roused." 

"  We  do.     We  do." 

"  Then  provoke  me  not  to  it " ;  and 
her  eye  ilashcd  daggers,  and  she 
turned  to  Gerard  all  instantaneous 
honey.  "  Addio,  il  Gerar-do."  And 
Gerai'd  bowed  himself  out  of  this  vel- 
vet tiger's  den. 

He  came  next  day  and  colored  her ; 
and  next  he  was  set  to  make  a  por- 
trait of  her  on  a  large  scale ;  and  then 
a  full  -  length  figure ;  and  he  was 
obliged  to  set  apart  two  hours  in  the 
afternoon  for  drawing  and  j)ainting 
this  princess,  whoso  beauty  and  vanity 
were  prodigious,  and  candidates  for  a 
])ortrait  of  her  numerous.  Here  the 
thriving  Gerard  found  a  new  and 
fruitful  source  of  income. 

Margaret  seemed  nearer  and  near- 
er. 

It  was  Holy  Thursday.  No  work 
this  day.  Fra  Colonna  and  Gerard 
sat  in  a  window  and  saw  the  religious 
processions.  Their  number  and  pious 
ardor  thrilled  Gerard  with  the  devo- 
tion that  now  seemed  to  animate  the 
whole  people,  lately  bent  on  earthly 
joys. 

Presently  the  pope  came  pacing 
majestically  at  the  head  of  his  cardi- 
nals, in  a  red  hat,  w^hite  cloak,  a  cap- 
uchin of  red  velvet,  and  riding  a 
lovely  white  Neapolitan  barb  capari- 
soned with  red  velvet  fringed  and 
tassellcd  with  gold  ;  a  hundred  horse- 
men, armed  cap-a-pie,  rode  behind 
him  with  their  lances  erected,  the  but- 
end  resting  on  the  man's  thigh.  The 
cardinals  went  uncovered  all  but  one, 
de  Medicis,  Avho  rode  close  to  the  pope 
and  conversed  with  him  as  with  an 
equal.  At  every  fifteen  steps  the 
pope  stopped  a  single  moment  and 
gave  the  people  his  blessing,  then  on 
again. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


289 


Gerard  and  the  friar  now  came 
down,  and,  threading  some  by-strcets, 
reached  the  portico  of  one  of  the  sev- 
en churches.  It  was  hung  witli  black, 
and  soon  the  pope  and  cardinals,  who 
had  entered  the  church  by  another 
door,  issued  forth,  and  stood  with 
torches  on  the  steps  separated  by  bar- 
riers from  the  people;  then  a  canon 
read  a  Latin  Bull,  excommunicating 
several  persons  by  name,  especially 
such  princes  as  were  keeping  the 
Church  out  of  any  of  her  temporal  pos- 
sessions. 

At  this  awful  ceremony  Gerard 
trembled,  and  so  did  the  people.  But 
two  of  the  cardinals  spoiled  the  effect 
by  laughing  unresen'edly  the  whole 
time. 

When  this  was  ended,  the  black 
cloth  was  removed,  and  revealed  a  gay 
panoply ;  and  the  pope  blessed  the 
people,  and  ended  by  throwing  liis 
torch  among  them  ;  so  did  two  cardi- 
nals. Instantly  there  was  a  scramble 
for  the  torches  :  they  were  fought  for, 
and  torn  in  pieces  by  the  candidates, 
so  devoutly  that  small  fragments  were 
gained  at  the  price  of  black  eyes 
bloody  noses,  and  burnt  fingers ;  in 
which  hurtling  his  holiness  and  suite 
withdrew  in  peace. 

And  now  there  was  a  cry,  and  the 
crowd  rushed  to  a  square  where  was 
a  large,  open  stage  :  several  priests 
were  upon  it  prajnng.  They  rose, 
and  with  great  ceremony  donned  red 
gloves.  Then  one  of  their  number 
kneeled,  and  ^vith  signs  of  the  lowest 
reverence  drew  forth  from  a  shrine  a 
square  frame,  like  that  of  a  mirror, 
and  inside  was  as  it  were  the  impres- 
sion of  a  face. 

It  was  the  Verum  icon,  or  true  im- 
pression of  our  Saviour's  face,  taken 
at  the  very  moment  of  his  mortal 
agony  for  us.  Received  as  it  was 
without  a  grain  of  doul)t,  imagine 
how  it  moved  every  Christian  heart. 

The  people  threw  themselves  on 
their  faces  when  the  priest  raised  it 
on  high  :  and  cries  of  pity  were  in 
every  mouth,  and  tears  in  almost 
every  eye.    After  a  while  the  people 


rose,  and  then  the  priests  went  round 
the  platform,  showing  it  for  a  single 
moment  to  the  nearest ;  and  at  each 
sight  loud  cries  of  pity  and  devotion 
burst  forth. 

Soon  after  this  the  friends  fell  in 
with  a  ])roccssion  of  Flagellants  flog- 
ging their  bare  shoulders  till  the 
blood  ran  streaming  down  ;  but  with- 
out a  sign  of  pain  in  their  faces,  and 
many  of  them  laughing  and  jesting 
as  they  lashed.  The  by-standers  out 
of  pity  offered  them  wine  :  they  took 
it,  but  few  drank  it,  they  generally 
used  it  to  free  the  tails  of  the  cat, 
which  were  hard  with  clotted  blood, 
and  make  the  next  stroke  more  ef- 
fective. Most  of  them  were  boys, 
and  a  young  woman  took  pity  on  one 
fair  urchin.  "  Alas  !  dear  child," 
said  she,  "  why  wound  thy  white  skin 
so  ?  "  "  Basta,"  said  he,  laughing, 
"'tis  for  your  sins  I  do  it,  not  for 
mine." 

"  Hear  you  that,"  said  the  friar. 
"  Show  me  the  whip  that  can  whip 
the  vanity  out  of  man's  heart !  The 
young  monkey  :  how  knowcth  he 
that  stranger  is  a  sinner  more  than 
he?" 

"  Father,"  said  Gerard,  "  surely 
tliis  is  not  to  our  Lord's  mind.  He 
was  so  pitiful." 

"  Our  Lord,"  said  the  friar,  cross- 
ing himself.  "  What  has  he  to  do  with 
this  ?  This  was  a  custom  in  Home 
six  hundred  years  before  he  was  bom. 
The  boys  used  to  go  through  the 
streets  at  the  Lupercalia,  flogging 
themselves.  And  the  married  wo- 
men used  to  shove  in,  and  try  and  get 
a  blow  from  the  monkeys'  scourges  : 
for  these  blows  conferred  fruitfulness, 
—  in  those  days.  A  foolish  trick  this 
flagellation :  but  interesting  to  the 
by-stander :  reminds  him  of  the  grand 
old  heathen.  We  are  so  prone  to 
forget  all  we  owe  them." 

Is^ext  they  got  into  one  of  the 
seven  churches,  and  saw  the  pope 
give  the  mass.  The  ceremony  was 
imposing,  but  again  spoiled  by  ttie 
inconsistent  conduct  of  the  cardinals, 
and  other  prelates,  who  sat  about  the 


290 


THE  CLOISTER   AND  THE   HEARTn. 


altar  with  their  hats  on,  chattering 
all  thri>u;;h  the  iiulss  like  u  fltM'k  of 
(fffse. 

The  cuchnrist  in  Iwth  kinrls  wiw 
tcste<l  liy  an  oltioial  In-torc  the  jk>|>»> 
wiiulil  veiituro  on  it  :  an<l  tlii*  !*iir- 
jiri'otl  Uerard  iR-joml  nieaxure. 
••  Who  is  that  hasc  man  '  ami  wluit 
dotli  he  there  '  " 

"  (),  that  is  '  the  Prepii-'te,'  ami  he 
tastes  the  eueharist  l>y  way  of  Jirv- 
raiition.  This  is  the  eountr)-  for 
jH.iHDn  ;  ami  none  full  oftener  by  it 
than  the  ix>or  i>oi>es." 

"  Alas  !  HO  I  have  heard  ;  but  after 
the  mirariiloiis  elianj^e  of  the  l)reiul 
and  wine  to  Christ  his  IkmIv  iind 
Mo<mI,  jioison  cannot  remain  ;  ^'one 
is  the  bread  with  all  its  projicrtiesand 
accitlents  ;  p>ne  is  the  wine." 

"  So  says  fiiith  ;  but  experience 
tells  Another  tale.  K<-ores  have  died 
in  IihIv  |>oiM»ned  in  the  host." 

"  And  I  tell  you,  fnther,  thiit.  were 
l»oth  bread  and  wine  eharp-«l  with 
din-st  poison  U'fon-  his  holiness  had 
e«iii>i<  riitrd  them,  yit  after  con.sccra- 
tioii  I  woui'l  take  them  lH)ih  \«ilhout 
fear." 

"  So  would  I,  liut  for  the  fine 
arts." 

"  What  mean  von  1  " 

"  Miirrv.  that  1  woidd  l>e  as  ready 
to  leave  the  world  as  thou,  were  it 
ni>t  for  thos4'  arts  which  beautify  ex- 
istence here  Ik'Iow,  and  make  it  dear 
to  men  of  sense  and  education.  No  : 
so  lonj;  as  the  Nine  Mu.ses  strew  my 
|);\th  with  roses  of  leaniinj;  and  art, 
nic  m:vv  A|h(11o  inspire  with  wistlom 
nui]  caution,  that,  knowing;  the  wiles 
^)t'  my  countrymen,  I  miiy  eat  j)oi- 
son  neither  at  God's  altar  nor  at 
a  friend's  table,  since,  wherever  I 
eat  it  or  drink  it,  it  will  assuredly 
cut  short  my  mortal  threjid ;  and  I 
am  writinjr  a  l>ook,  —  heart  and  (.oul 
in  it,  — '  The  Dream  of  I'olifilo,'  the 
man  of  many  arts.  So  name  not 
yoison  to  mc  till  that  is  finished  and 
cojiied." 

And  now  the  prcat  Ix^lls  of  St. 
John  Lateran's  were  rung  with  a 
cl;i.«h  at  short  inten-als.  and  the  peo- 


ple hurried   thither  to   fie«  the  beadl 
of  St.  I'rtcr  and  St.  I'aul. 

(lerard  and  the  friar  p>t  a  cood 
place  in  the  church,  and  there  was  • 
treat  curtain,  and,  al^er  lon(j  and 
breathless  exiHctation  of  the  iKxjple, 
this  curtain  was  drawn  by  jerks,  and 
at  a  height  of  al>out  thirty  ftrt  were 
two  human  heads  with  iM'urded  faces, 
that  seemi-d  alive.  They  were  shown 
no  longer  than  the  time  to  say  an 
Ave  Maria,  and  then  the  curtain 
drawn,  liut  they  wen*  shown  in  thi* 
fashion  three  times.     St.  I'eter's  rnm- 

Iile.xion  was  |>ale,  his  face  oval,  his 
>eard  (;ray  and  forkeii,  his  head 
crowned  with  a  papal  mitre.  St. 
I'ttul  was  darkskinneil,  with  a  thick, 
S()uare  U-anl  ;  his  face  also  and  head 
were  more  sijiiare  and  maMivc,  and 
full  of  n'.s<dution. 

(ierard  wa.s  awe  si  nick.  The  friar 
apfirovid  after  this  fa.shion  :  — 

"This  exhibition  of  the  '  imapi- 
nes,'  or  waxen  cfli^ies  of  herrx-s  and 
demij^txls,  is  a  venerable  custom,  and 
inciteth  the  vulijar  to  virtue  by  prat 
and  visilile  exnmjdes." 

"  Wa.xtn  ima^c^'s  '  What,  an-  they 
not  the  apostles  them.selvcs  embidmed, 
or  the  like  •  " 

The  friar  moane<l. 

"  They  did  not  exist  in  the  year 
800.  The  treat  old  Konian  families 
alwavs  produced  at  their  funerals  a 
»eri«'s  of  these  '  imagines,'  thereby 
tyinjT  past  and  present  history  to- 
pether,  and  showinp  tin-  popidace  the 
features  of  far-famed  worthies.  I 
can  conceive  nothing  mon>  thrilling 
or  instructive.  Hut  then  the  ertipics 
were  portraits  made  during  life  or  at 
the  hour  I'f  death.  These  of  St. 
I'aul  and  St.  Peter  arc  moulded  out 
of  pure  fancy." 

"  Ah  !  .say  not  so,  father." 

j      "  liut  the  worst  is  this  humor  of 

showing  them  up  on  a  shelf,  and  half 

I  in    the   dark,  and    by    snatches,    ami 

I  with  the  p(x>r  mountebank  trick  of  a 

drawn  curtain. 

'Quodcnnque  ostvndi.smihi  sic incrcdoloj  odL' 

I  Enough  :  the  men  of  this  day  arc  no! 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


291 


the  men  of  old.  Let  us  have  done 
with  these  new-fangled  mummeries, 
and  go  among  the  pope's  books ; 
there  we  shall  find  the  wisdom  we 
shall  vainly  hunt  in  the  streets  of 
modem  Rome." 

And,  this  idea  having  once  taken 
root,  the  good  friar  plunged  and  tore 
through  the  crowd,  and  looked  nei- 
ther to  the  right  hand  nor  to  the  left, 
till  he  had  escaped  the  glories  of  the 
holy  week,  which  had  brought  fifty 
thousand  strangers  to  Rome ;  and 
had  got  nice  and  quiet  among  the 
dead  in  the  library  of  the  Vatican. 

Presently,  going  into  Gerard's 
room,  he  found  a  hot  dispute  afoot 
between  him  and  Jacques  Bonaven- 
tura.  That  spark  had  come  in,  all 
steel  from  head  to  toe ;  doffed  helmet, 
puffed,  and  railed  most  scornfully  on 
a  ridiculous  ceremony  at  which  he 
and  his  soldiers  had  been  compelled 
to  attend  the  pope  ;  to  wit,  the  bless- 
ing of  the  beasts  of  burden. 

Gerard  said  it  was  not  ridiculous  ; 
nothing  a  pope  did  could  be  ridiculous. 

The  argument  grew  warm,  and  the 
friar  stood  grimly  neuter,  waiting,  like 
the  stork  that  ate  the  frog  and  the 
mouse  at  the  close  of  their  combat,  to 
grind  them  both  between  the  jaws 
of  antiquity ;  when  lo,  the  curtain 
was  gently  drawn,  and  there  stood  a 
venerable  old  man,  in  a  purple  skull- 
cap, with  a  beard  like  white  floss 
silk,  looking  at  them  with  a  kind 
though  feeble  smile. 

"  Happy  youth,"  said  he,  "  that 
can  heat  itself  over  such  matters." 

They  all  fell  on  their  knees.  It 
was  the  pope. 

"  Nay,  rise,  my  children,"  said  he, 
almost  peevishly.  "  I  came  not  into 
this  corner  to  be  in  state.  How  goes 
Plutarch  ? " 

Gerard  brought  his  work,  and,  kneel- 
ing on  one  knee,  presented  it  to  his 
holiness,  who  had  seated  himself,  the 
others  standing. 

His  holiness  inspected  it  with  inter- 
est.   "  'T  is  excellently  ^vrit,"  said  he. 

Gerard's  heart  beat  with  delight. 

"  Ah  !   this    Plutarch,  he    had  a 


wondrous  art,  Francesco.  How  each 
character  standeth  out  alive  on  his 
page :  how  full  of  nature  each,  yet 
how  unlike  his  fellow  !  " 

Jacques  Bonaventura.  "  Give  me 
the  signor  Boccaccio." 

His  Holiness.  "  An  excellent  nar- 
rator, Capitano,  and  writeth  exqui- 
site Italian.  But  in  spirit  a  thought 
too  monotonous.  Monks  and  nuns 
were  never  all  unchaste :  one  or  two 
such  stories  were  right  pleasant  and 
diverting ;  but  five-score  paint  his 
time  falsely,  and  sadden  the  heart  of 
such  as  love  mankind.  Moreover,  he 
hath  no  skill  at  characters.  Now  this 
Greek  is  supreme  in  that  great  art : 
he  carveth  them  with  pen  :  and  turn- 
ing his  page  see  into  how  real  and 
great  a  world  we  enter  of  war,  and 
policy,  and  business,  and  love  in  its 
own  place  :  for  with  him,  as  in  the 
great  world,  men  are  not  all  running 
after  a  wench.  With  this  great  open 
field  compare  me  not  the  narrow  gar- 
den of  Boccaccio,  and  his  little  mill- 
round  of  dishonest  pleasures." 

"  Your  holiness,  they  say,  hath  not 
disdained  to  write  a  novel." 

"  My  holiness  hath  done  more  fool- 
ish things  than  one,  whereof  it  re- 
pents too  late.  When  I  wrote  novels 
I  little  thought  to  be  head  of  the 
Church." 

"  I  search  in  vain  for  a  copy  of  it 
to  add  to  my  poor  library." 

"  It  is  well.  Then  the  strict  orders 
I  gave  four  years  ago  to  destroy  every 
copy  in  Italy  have  been  well  dis- 
charged. However,  for  your  comfort, 
on  my  being  made  pope,  some  fool 
turned  it  into  French :  so  that  you 
may  read  it,  at  the  price  of  exile." 

"  Reduced  to  this  strait,  we  throw 
ourselves  on  your  holiness's  generosi- 
ty. Vouchsafe  to  give  us  your  infal- 
lible judgment  on  it !  " 

"  Gently,  gently,  good  Francesco. 
A  pope's  novels  are  not  matters  of 
faith.  I  can  but  give  yoti  my  sincere 
impression.  Well,  then,  the  work  in 
question  had,  as  far  as  I  remember, 
all  the  vices  of  Boccaccio,  without 
his  choice  Italian." 


292 


THE  CLOISTKR   ANI>  TIIK   HKARTII- 


Fra  Culmma.  "  Voiir  holincM  in 
known  lor  Kli^htinj;  ^l-lnra.*  Silvius  «.h 
other  inrii  never  •ili^lileii  him.  I  did 
him  injiistieo  to  make  voo  hi*  jud;,'e. 
I'tTlinjit  >i)ur  lioline.t.i  will  det-iilc  njore 
jii-tly  lictwwn  iheM-  iwo  buys,  — 
nix. lit  |ilti«iiin;;  the  ln-a-tt*." 

Ill'- 1"'!-'  deniumtl     In  Hpeakinf;  of 
riiitiin  li  he  hiid  hriuhtened  ti|>  for  n 
nminent,  nnd  \u»  v\v  hod  even  Hitohed  ; 
hilt  hill  (fi'nrral  iiinnner  wan  a.t  un- 
like what  youthful   femalet  exixvl  in 
n  |«>p<'  AS  vou  ran   eoneeive.     I  ean 
only  deiiTifx'  it  in  Fn-n<  h.      Ix*  ;.••••• 
tillmniine    liia-*'.       A    hii,'hhre<l 
hi;,'hly  eultiMiled  j;entlenuiM,  wh"  ' 
done,  nnd  nuid,  and  m-en,  and  known 
cverythinj;,    ond    whov     Uxlv    wo-i 
nearly    woni   ouL     Hut   douhle    lan- 
guor !iecnied    to  seize  him  at  the  fa- 
ther's |>ro|ioi<il. 

"  My  j»«H)r  Fmnres<t>,"  liaid  he, 
"  licthink  thco  that  I  have  hnd  a  life 
of  contnivcmv,  ond  am  «irk  on  't,  niek 
Oil  death.  I'lutanh  dn-w  inc  to  thin 
calm  ntreat,  ni>t  divinity." 

"  Nay,  l>ut,  your  liolines-t,  for  mo«l- 
cnitinjj  of  strife  bctwwn  two  hot 
younj;  bloodi. 

"  And  know  yon  nature  so  ill  aa 
to  think  either  of  f}u>se  hi>rh-mettle<l 
youths  will  nrk  what  a  poor  old 
|><)|>«'  .loith  '  " 

'■  Oh  !  your  holines.<»,"  broke  in  Ge- 
r!\rd,  b!u.'*hin;;  and  ;jn.<t|)infj,  *'  sure, 
here  is  one  who  will  treasure  your 
words  all  his  life  as  words  from 
heaven." 

*'  In  that  ca.se,"  ."aid  the  pope,  "  I 
am  fairly  eau^jht.  As  Francesco  here 
would  >ay,  — 

'  ovK  tcTiv  ooTK  trr'  amfft  <A(v^pot.* 

I  came  to  taste  that  eltxjucnt  heathen, 
dear  to  me  e'en  as  to  thee,  thou  pay- 
nim  monk  ;  and  I  must  talk  divinity, 
or  something:  next  iloor  to  it.  But 
the  youth  hath  a  po^id  and  a  winning 
fiue.  and  writeth  (Jreek  like  nn  angel. 
Well,  then,  my  children,  to  compre- 
hend the  ways  of  the  Church,  wc 
should  still   rise  a    little  above  the 


earth,  (inre  the  Churx-h  if  betwem 
heaven  and  earth,  and  interpret*  bfr- 
twi.xt  them. 

"  The  qucfltion    ii   th<-n,    n"f   h«»w 
vulvar  nun  fwi,  luit  li 
Cri'utor  u(  man  nnd   ' 

toward.*    the    lower   ui •.-         •  ■..-, 

if  we  an-  too  pmud  to  ,s<areh  for  it  in 
the  lesMins  of  the  ("hunh,  the  next 
l>ett  thin;;  is  to  po  to  the  moot  aucicnl 
hi.ttory  of  men  nml  animals." 

t '<J<mmi,     "  HeriMlotus." 

"  Nay,  nay  ;  in  ihi^  mattrr  Ilerodo- 

•■•    ■'  but  a  mu'ihriiom.     Finely  were 

I'd    for   ancient    history,   if  wo 

ted  on   your   (in-<'k»,  who  did 

but  write  on  the  lost  leaf  of  that  great 

Itook,  Anti«|uity." 

The  friar  ^Tonnecl.  Here  was  a 
t>op<-  uttering;  heresy  n(;ainst  his  dcm- 

Ipxls. 

" 'T  is  the  Vulrnte  I  s|itak  of. 
A  history  that  handles  nuittent  three 
thousand  years  befon<  him  pedants 
call  '  the  Foiher  of  History.' ' 

Cohrma.  "O,  the  Vulj.'afe  '  I  cry 
your  lioline.M  mercy.  How  yon 
friKhtenetl  hk".  I  quite  forgot  tbo 
Vulgate." 

•'Forgot  it'  art  sure  thou  ever 
readst  it,  Francest-o  mio  f  " 

"  Not  quite,  your  holincM.  'Tis  • 
pleasure  I  have  long  promised  mv- 
sclf,  the  first  vacant  monu-nt.  Hith- 
erto these  grand  old  heathen  have 
left  mc  small  time  for  n-treation." 

//ij  HiJinrM.  "  FirTtt  then  you  will 
find  in  (ienesis  that  (ickI,  having^ 
created  the  animals,  dn-w  a  holy 
plea-Hure,  undeHnablc  by  us,  from  con- 
templating of  their  U-auty.  Was  it 
wonderful  '  See  their  myriad  forms  ; 
their  lovely  hair,  and  eyes,  their 
grace,  and  of  some  the  fKjwer  and 
majesty  ;  the  color  of  others,  brighter 
than  roses  or  rubies.  And  when, 
for  man's  sin,  not  their  own,  they 
were  destroyed,  yet  were  two  of  each 
kind  sjiared. 

"  And  when  the  ark  nnd  its  trem- 
bling inmates  tumbled  solitary  on 
the  world  of  water,  then,  .saith  the 
word  :  '  Go<l  remembered  Noah,  and 
the  cattle  thcU  were  vcith  him  in  tJie  ark' 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


293 


"  Thereafter  God  did  write  his  rain- 
bow in  the  sky  as  a  bond  that  earth 
should  be  flooded  no  more ;  and  be- 
tween whom  the  bond  ?  between  God 
and  man  ?  nay  :  between  God  and 
man  and  every  living  creature  of  all 
flesh ;  or  my  memory  fails  me  with 
age.  In  Exodus  God  commanded 
that  the  cattle  should  share  the  sweet 
blessing  of  the  one  day's  rest.  More- 
over, he  forbade  to  muzzle  the  ox  that 
trod  out  the  com.  '  Nay,  let  the 
poor  overwrought  soul  snatch  a 
mouthful  as  he  goes  his  toilsome 
round  :  the  bulk  of  the  grain  shall 
still  be  for  man.'  Ye  will  object  per- 
chance that  St.  Paul,  commenting 
this,  saith  rudely.  Doth  God  care  for 
oxen  ?  Verily,  had  I  been  Peter,  in- 
stead of  the  humblest  of  his  succes- 
sors, I  had  answered  him :  '  Drop 
thy  theatrical  poets,  Paul,  and  read 
the  Scriptures  :  then  shalt  thou  know 
whether  God  careth  only  for  men 
and  sparrows,  or  for  all  his  creatures. 
O  Paul,'  had  I  made  bold  to  say, 
'  think  not  to  learn  God  by  looking 
into  Paul's  heart,  nor  any  heart  of 
man,  but  study  that  which  he  hath 
revealed  concerning  himself.' 

"  Thrice  lie  forbade  the  Jews  to 
boil  the  kid  in  his  mother's  milk  ;  not 
that  this  is  cruelty,  but  want  of 
thought  and  gentle  sentiments,  and 
so  paves  the  way  for  dowoiright  cruel- 
ty.  A  prophet  riding  on  an  ass  did 
meet  an  angel.  Which  of  these  two, 
Paulo  judice,  had  seen  the  heavenly 
spirit  ?  marrj',  the  prophet.  But  it 
was  not  so.  The  man,  his  vision 
cloyed  with  sin,  saw  naught.  The 
poor  despised  creature  saw  all.  Nor 
is  this  recorded  as  miraculous.  Poor, 
proud  things,  we  overrate  ourselves. 
The  angel  had  slain  the  prophet  and 
spared  the  ass,  but  for  that  creature's 
clearer  vision  of  essences  divine.  He 
said  so,  methinks.  But  in  sooth  I 
read  it  many  years  agone.  Why  did 
God  spare  repentant  Nineveh  ?  Be- 
cause in  that  city  were  sixty  thou- 
sand children,  besides  much  cattle. 

"  Profane  history  and  vulgar  ex- 
perience add  their  mite  of  witness. 


The  cruel  to  animals  end  in  cruelty  to 
man  ;  and  strange  and  violent  deaths, 
marked  with  retribution's  bloody 
finger,  have  in  all  ages  fallen  from 
Heaven  on  such  as  wantonly  harm 
innocent  beasts.  This  I  myself  have 
seen.  All  this  duly  weighed,  and 
seeing  that,  despite  this  .Francesco's 
friends,  the  stoics,  who  in  their  vanity 
say  the  creatures  all  subsist  for  man's 
comfort,  there  be  snakes  and  scor- 
pions which  kill  'Dominimi  terraa' 
with  a  nip,  mosquitoes  which  eat  him 
piecemeal,  and  tigers  and  sharks, 
which  crack  him  like  an  almond,  we 
do  well  to  be  grateful  to  these  true, 
faithful,  patient  four-footed  friends, 
which,  in  lieu  of  powdering  us,  put 
forth  their  strength  to  relieve  our 
toils,  and  do  feed  us  like  mothers 
from  their  gentle  dugs. 

"  Methinks  then  the  Church  is 
never  more  divine  than  in  this  ben- 
ediction of  our  four-footed  friends, 
which  has  revolted  yon  great  the- 
ological authority,  the  captain  of  the 
pope's  guards ;  since  here  she  incul- 
cates humanity  and  gratitude,  and 
rises  towards  the  level  of  the  mind 
divine,  and  interprets  God  to  man, 
God  the  creator,  parent,  and  friend 
of  man  and  beast. 

"  But  all  this,  young  gentles,  you 
mil  please  to  receive,  not  as  delivered 
by  the  pope  ex  cathedra,  but  uttered 
carelessly,  in  a  free  hour,  by  an  aged 
clcrgj-man.  On  that  score  you  will 
perhaps  do  well  to  entertain  it  with 
some  little  consideration.  For  old 
age  must  surely  bring  a  man  some- 
what, in  return  for  his  digestion 
(his  'dura  puerorum  iha,'  eh,  Fran- 
cesco), which  it  carries  away." 

Such  was  the  purport  of  the  pope's 
discourse  ;  but  the  manner  high-bred, 
languid,  kindly,  and  free  from  all 
tone  of  dictation.  He  seemed  to  be 
gently  probing  the  matter  in  concert 
•\vith  his  hearers,  not  playing  Sir 
Oracle.  At  the  bottom  of  all  which 
was  doubtless  a  slight  touch  of  hum- 
bug, but  the  humbug  that  embellishes 
lite  ;  and  all  sense  of  it  was  lost  in  the 
subtle  ItaUan  grace  of  the  thing. 


294 


THE  CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  I  seem  to  hear  the  oracle  of  Del- 
plii,"  said  Fni  L'oloiiiia,  ciitliusiiisti- 
cally. 

"  I  cull  thnt  ROod  sense,"  shouted 
Jaques  Hoiiiiveiitura. 

"  ()  captiiiii,  f;ood  sense  !  "  said 
Gerard,  with  a  deep  and  tender  re- 
primcb. 

The  pope  smiled  on  Gerard. 
"  Cavil  not  at  words  ;  that  was  an 
unlu-ard-ot°  concession  from  a  rival 
theoiopan." 

He  then  asked  for  all  Geranl's 
work,  and  took  it  away  in  his  hand. 
But,  l>cfi)re  uoin^,  he  ;;cntly  jtullotl 
Fra  Colonna's  ear,  and  luskcd  him 
whether  he  rcnicnil)Cred  wlieii  tluy 
were  s(lu><>ir»liows  to^^ether.  and 
rol)lK-d  tiie  Vir;xin  by  tlie  ri>adside 
of  the  money  dropped  into  her  l»ox. 
"  You  took  a  hat  stick  and  applied 
birdlime  to  the  top,  and  drew  the 
money  out  through  the  chink,  you 
rof^ue,"  said  his  holino>s,  severely. 

"  To  cviry  sitrnor  his  own  honor," 
replied  Fra  Colonna.  "  It  was  your 
holincss's  pood  wit  invented  the  ma- 
noeuvre. 1  was  but  the  humble  in- 
strument." 

"  It  is  well.  Doubtless  you  know 
't  was  sacrilepe." 

"  Of  the  first  water ;  but  I  did  it 
in  such  good  company,  it  troubles  mo 
not." 

"  Humph  !  I  have  not  even  that 
poor  consolation.  What  did  wo  spend 
It  in,  dost  mind  !  " 

"  Can  your  holiness  ask  ?  why, 
supar-plums." 

"  What,  all  on  't  '.  " 

"  Every  doit." 

"  These  are  delightful  reminis- 
cences, my  Francesco.  Alas  !  I  am 
getting  old.  I  shall  not  be  here  long. 
And  I  am  sorry  for  it,  for  thy  sake. 
They  will  go  and  bum  thee  when 
I  am  gone.  Art  far  more  a  heretic 
than  IIuss,  whom  I  saw  burned  with 
these  eyes ;  and  O,  he  died  like  a 
martyr." 

"  Ay,  your  holiness  :  but  I  believe 
in  the  }K)pe,  and  Huss  did  not." 

"  Fox  !  They  will  not  burn  thee ; 
wood  is  too  dear.     Adieu,  old  play- 


mate ;  adieu,  young  gentlemen :  aq 
old  man's  blessing'  Ik-  on  you." 

T'hat  afternoon  tlie  |)o|)e's  secrctanr 
broii^;ht  Gerard  a  little  bag :  in  it 
Were  severid  gold  jtiens. 

He  added  them  to  his  store. 

Margaret  seemed  nearer  and  near- 
er. 

For  some  time  post,  too,  it  appeared 
as  if  the  fairies  hml  watched  over  him. 
Ma.-*kets  of  choice  pro\i.sioiis  and 
fruits  were  brougiit  to  his  door  by 
|)orters  who  knew  not*  who  had  em- 
ployed them,  or  atfectcd  ignonincc ; 
and  (jne  day  cume  a  jewel  in  a  letter, 
but  no  words. 

At  this  jioint  the  suspicions  of  liis 
landlady  broke  tmt.  "  This  is  none 
of  my  patrons,  silly  lH>y  ;  this  is  some 
lady  that  hath  fallen  in  love  with  thy 
sweet  face.  Marry,  I  blame  her 
not." 


CHAFTEU  LXI. 

The  Princess  Clalia  ordered  a  full- 
length  |>ortrait  of  herself.  Gerard 
advised  ner  to  employ  his  friend  Pio- 
tro  Vanucci. 

But  she  declined.  "  'T  will  be 
time  to  put  a  slight  on  Gerardo  when 
his  work  discontents  me."  Then  Ge- 
rard, who  knew  he  was  an  excellent 
draughtsman,  but  not  so  good  a  col- 
orist,  lagged  her  to  stand  to  him  as 
a  Roman  statue.  He  showed  her 
how  closely  he  could  mimic  marble  on 
I)aper.  She  consented  at  first ;  but 
demurred  when  this  enthusiast  ex- 
plained to  her  that  she  must  wear  the 
tunic,  toga,  and  sandals  of  the  an- 
cients. 

"  Why,  I  had  as  lieve  be  presented 
in  my  smock,"  said  she,  with  medie- 
val frankness. 

"Alack  !  signorina,"  said  Gerard, 
"  you  have  surely  never  noted  the  an- 
cient habit ;  so  free,  so  ample,  so  sim- 
ple, yet  so  noble  ;  and  most  becoming 
your  highness,  to  whom  Heaven  hath 
given  the  Roman  features,  and  eke  a 
shapely  arm  and  hand,  hid  in  modem 
guise.' 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


295 


"What,  can  you  flatter  like  the 
rest,  Gerardo  ?  Well,  give  me  time 
to  think  on 't.  Come  o'  Saturday, 
and  then  I  will  say  ay  or  nay." 

The  respite  thus  gained  was  passed 
in  making  the  tunic  and  toga,  &c., 
and  trying  them  on  in  her  chamber, 
to  see  whether  they  suited  her  style 
of  beauty  well  enough  to  compensate 
their  being  a  thousand  years  out  of 
date. 

Grcrard,  hurrying  along  to  this  in- 
terview, was  suddenly  arrested,  and 
rooted  to  earth  at  a  shop  window. 

His  quick  eye  had  discerned  in  that 
window  a  copy  of  Lactantius,  lying 
open.  "  That  is  fairly  writ,  any 
way,"  thought  he. 

He  eyed  it  a  moment  more  with  all 
his  eyes. 

It  was  not  written  at  all.  It  was 
printed. 

Gerard  groaned.  "  I  am  sped ; 
mine  enemy  is  at  the  door.  The 
press  is  in  Rome." 

He  went  into  the  shop,  and,  affect- 
ing nonchalance,  inquired  how  long 
the  printing-press  had  been  in  Rome. 
The  man  said  he  beHeved  there  was 
no  such  thing  in  the  city.  "  O,  the 
Lactantius  ;  that  was  printed  on  the 
top  of  the  Apennines." 

"  What,  did  the  printing-press  fall 
down  there  out  o'  the  moon  ?  " 

"  Nay,  messer,"  said  the  trader, 
laughing,  "it  shot  up  there  out  of 
Grermany.     See  the  title-page  !  " 

Gerard  took  the  Lactantius  eagerly, 
and  saw  the  following  :  — 
Opera  et  impensis  Sweynheim  et  Pannartz 
Alumnorum  Joannis  FuBt. 
Impreasum  Subiacis.     a.  d.  1465. 

"  Will  ye  buy,  messer  1  See  how 
fair  and  even  be  the  letters.  Few  are 
left  can  write  Uke  that ;  and  scarce  a 
quarter  of  the  price." 

"  I  would  fain  have  it,"  said  Ge- 
rard, sadly  ;  "  but  my  heart  -\vill  not 
let  me.  Know  that  I  am  a  caligraph, 
and  these  disciples  of  Fust  run  after 
me  round  the  world  a  taking  the  bread 
out  of  my  mouth.  But  I  wish  them 
no  ill.  Heaven  forbid ! "  And  he 
harried  from  the  shop. 
13* 


"  Dear  Margaret,"  said  he  to  him- 
self, "  we  must  lose  no  time  ;  we  must 
make  our  hay  while  shines  the  sun. 
One  month  more  and  an  avalanche  of 
printer's  type  shall  roll  down  on 
Rome  from  those  Apennines,  and  lay 
us  waste  that  writers  be." 

And  he  almost  ran  to  the  Princess 
Clffilia. 

He  was  ushered  into  an  apartment 
new  to  him.  It  was  not  very  large, 
but  most  luxurious ;  a  fountain 
played  in  the  centre,  and  the  floor  was 
covered  with  the  skins  of  panthers, 
dressed  with  the  hair,  so  that  no  foot, 
fall  could  be  heard.  The  room  was 
an  antechamber  to  the  princess's  bou- 
doir, for  on  one  side  there  M'as  no 
door,  but  an  ample  curtain  of  gor- 
geous tapestry. 

Here  Gerard  was  left  alone  till  he 
became  quite  uneasy,  and  doubted 
whether  the  maid  had  not  shown  him 
to  the  wrong  place. 

These  doubts  were  agreeably  dissi- 
pated. 

A  light  step  came  swiftly  behind 
the  curtain  ;  it  parted  in  the  middle, 
and  there  stood  a  figure  the  heathens 
might  have  worshipped.  It  was  not 
quite  Venus,  nor  quite  Minerva  ;  but 
between  the  two  ;  nobler  than  Venus, 
more  womanly  than  Jupiter's  daugh- 
ter. Toga,  tunic,  sandals ;  nothing 
was  modem.  And  as  for  beauty, 
that  is  of  all  times. 

Gerard  started  up,  and  all  the  art- 
ist in  him  flushed  with  pleasure. 

"  Oh !  "  he  cried  innocently,  and 
gazed  in  rapture. 

This  added  the  last  charm  to  his 
model :  a  light  blush  tinted  her 
cheeks,  and  her  eyes  brightened,  and 
her  mouth  smiled  with  delicious  com- 
placency at  this  genuine  tribute  to 
her  charms. 

When  they  had  looked  at  one 
another  so  some  time,  and  she  saw 
Gerard's  eloquence  was  confined  to 
ejaculating  and  gazing,  she  spoke 
"  Well,  Gerardo,  thou  seest  I  have 
made  myself  an  antique  monster  for 
thee." 

"  A  monster  1  I  doubt  Fra  Colonna 


296 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


would  fall  down  nnd  ndorc  vonr  high- 
ness, si'ciii;:  }ou  so  Imliitc-d.  ' 

*'  Xiiy,  1  care  not  to  be  adored  by 
an  old  man.  I  would  liever  Ik:  loved 
by  u  young  one  :  of  my  own  choos- 
ing." 

(jcrard  took  out  his  pencils,  ar- 
ranged his  canvius,  which  he  had  cov- 
ered with  stout  papi-r,  and  set  to 
work  ;  and  so  absorln-d  was  he  that  he 
had  no  mercy  on  his  model.  At  hist, 
after  near  an  hour  in  one  posture, 
"(ierardo,"  said  she,  faintly,  "  I  can 
stand  so  no  more,  even  for  thee." 

"  Sit  down  and  rest  awhile,  sig- 
nora." 

"  I  thank  thee,"  said  she ;  and, 
6inkin<;  into  a  chair,  turned  pale  and 
siglied. 

(ierard  was  alarmed,  and  saw  also 
he  had  been  inconsiderate.  lie  tot)k 
water  from  the  fountain  and  was 
alxiut  to  throw  it  in  her  face  ;  but 
she  ]>ut  up  a  white  hand  dfj>n'<'ating- 
Iv  :  "  Nay,  hold  it  to  my  brow  with 
tliinc  hand  ;  prithee,  do  not  tiing  it 
at  n>e !  " 

Gerard  timidly  and  hesitating  ap- 
plied his  wet  hand  to  her  brow. 

"  Ah  !  "  she  sighed,  "  that  is  reviv- 
ing.    Again." 

He  applied  it  again.  She  thanked 
him,  and  ivsked  him  to  ring  a  little 
hand-bell  on  the  table.  He  did  so, 
and  a  maid  came,  and  was  sent  to 
Floretta  with  orders  to  bring  a  large 
fan. 

Floretta  speedily  came  with  the 
fan. 

She  no  sooner  came  near  the  prin- 
cess, than  that  lady's  hij;h-brcd  nos- 
trils suddenly  expanded  like  a  blood- 
horse's.  "  Wretch !  "  said  she  ;  and, 
rising  up  with  a  sudden  return  to  vig- 
or, seized  Floretta  with  her  left  hand, 
twisted  it  in  her  hair,  and  with  the 
right  hand  boxed  her  cars  severely 
three  times. 

Floretta  screamed  and  blubbered, 
but  obtained  no  mercy. 

The  antique  toga  left  quite  disen- 
gaged a  bare  arm,  that  now  seemed 
as  powerful  as  it  was  beautiful  :  it 
rose  and  fell  like  the  piston  of  a  mod- 


ern steam-engino.  and  heavy  slapg  r» 
soimcleil  one  after  unotlur  on  Flo* 
retta's  shoulders  ;  the  bust  one  ilrove 
her  sobbing  and  screaming  thn>ugh 
the  curtain,  and  there  she  was  heard 
crying  bitterly  for  some  time  after. 

"  Saints  of  lieaven  !  "  cried  Ge- 
rard, "  what  is  amiss  ?  what  hath  sho 
done  ? " 

"  She  knows  ri^ht  well.  'T  is  not 
the  first  time.  The  nasty  toad  !  I  '11 
leani  her  to  come  to  me  stinking  of 
the  musk-cat." 

"  Alas !  sitniora,  't  was  a  small 
fault,  methinks." 

"  A  small  fault  ?  Nay,  't  was  o 
foul  fault."  She  added,  with  nr. 
ama/.iiig  sudden  descent  to  humility 
and  sweetness  :  "  Are  you  wroth  with 
me  for  tuating  her,  Gerar-do  ?  " 

"  Signora,  it  ill  becomes  mo  to 
school  you  ;  but  methinks  such  as 
Heaven  appoints  to  govern  others 
should  govern  themselves." 

"  That  is  true,  Gerardo.  How  wise 
you  are,  to  l>c  so  young."  She  then 
called  the  other  maid,  and  gave  her  a 
little  purse.  "  Take  that  to  Floretta, 
and  tell  her  '  the  (Jerardo '  hath  inter- 
ceded for  her;  and  so  I  must  needs 
forgive  her.     There,  Gerardo." 

Gerardo  colored  all  over  at  the 
compliment ;  but,  not  knowing  how  to 
turn  a  phrase  equal  to  the  occasion, 
asked  her  if  he  should  resume  her 
picture. 

"  Not  yet ;  beating  that  hussy  hath 
somewhat  breathed  me.  I  'II  sit 
awhile,  and  you  shall  talk  to  me.  I 
know  you  can  talk,  an  it  pleases  you, 
as  rarely  as  you  draw." 

"  That  were  easily  done." 

"  Do  it  then,  Gerardo." 

Gerard  was  taken  aback. 

"  But,  signora,  I  know  not  what  to 
say.     This  is  sudden." 

"  Say  your  real  mind.  Say  yoa 
wish  you  were  anywhere  but  here." 

"  iJay,  signora,  that  would  not  be 
sooth.     I  wish  one  thing  though." 

"  Ay,  and  what  is  that  ?  "  said  she, 
gently. 

"  I  wish  I  could  have  drawn  you 
as  you  were  beating  that  poor  lass. 


THE   CLOISTER   AND    THK   HKAIiTH. 


297 


f  ou  were  awful,  yet  lovely.  O,  what 
a  subject  for  a  Pythoness  !  " 

"  Alas  !  he  thinks  but  of  his  art. 
And  why  keep  such  a  coil  about  my 
beauty,  Gerardo  ?  You  are  far  fair- 
er than  I  am.  You  are  more  like 
Apollo  than  I  to  Venus.  Also,  you 
have  lovely  hair,  and  lovely  eyes,  — 
but  you  know  not  what  to  do  with 
them." 

"  Ay,  do  I.  To  draw  you,  signo- 
ra." 

"  Ah,  yes  ;  you  can  see  my  features 
with  them ;  but  you  cannot  see  what 
any  Roman  gallant  had  seen  long  ago 
in  your  place.  Yet  sure  you  must 
have  noted  how  welcome  you  are  to 
me,  Gerardo  ? " 

"  I  can  see  your  highness  is  always 
passing  kind  to  me ;  a  poor  stranger 
like  me." 

"No,  I  am  not,  Gerardo.  I  have 
often  been  cold  to  you ;  rude  some- 
times :  and  you  are  so  simple  you 
see  not  the  cause.  Alas  !  I  feared 
for  my  own  heart.  I  feared  to  be 
your  slave.  I  who  have  hitherto 
made  slaves.  Ah !  Gerardo,  I  am 
unhappy.  Ever  since  you  came  here 
I  have  lived  upon  your  visits.  The 
day  you  are  to  come  I  am  bright. 
The  other  days  I  am  listless,  and  wish 
them  fled.  You  are  not  like  the 
Roman  gallants.  You  make  me  hate 
them.  You  are  ten  times  braver  to 
my  eye  ;  and  you  are  wise  and  schol- 
arly, and  never  flatter  and  lie.  I  scorn 
a  man  that  lies.  Gerai-do,  teach 
me  thy  magic  ;  teach  me  to  make  thee 
as  happy  by  my  side  as  I  am  still  by 
thine." 

As  she  poured  out  these  strange 
words,  the  princess's  mellow  voice 
sunk  almost  to  a  whisper,  and  trem- 
bled with  half-suppressed  passion,  and 
her  white  hand  stole  timidly  yet  ear- 
nestly do^vn  Gerard's  arm,  till  it  rested 
like  a  soft  bird  upon  his  wrist,  and  as 
ready  to  fly  away  at  a  word. 

Destitute  of  vanitv  and  experience, 
wrapped  up  In  his  Margaret  and  his 
art,  Gerard  had  not  seen  this  revela- 
tion coming,  though  it  had  come  by 
regular  and  YJsible  gradations. 


He  blushed  all  over.  His  innocent 
admiration  of  the  regal  beauty  tliat 
besieged  him  did  not  for  a  moment 
displace  the  absent  Margaret's  image. 
Yet  it  was  regal  beauty,  and  woo- 
ing with  a  grace  and  tenderness  he 
had  never  even  figured  in  imagina- 
tion. How  to  check  her  without 
wounding  her  ? 

He  blushed  and  trembled. 

The  siren  saw,  and  encouraged 
him.  "  Poor  Gerardo,"  she  mur- 
mured, "  fear  not ;  none  shall  ever 
harm  thee  under  my  wing.  Wilt  not 
speak  to  me,  Gerar-do  mio  ?  " 

"  Signora !  "  muttered  Gerard,  de- 
precatingly. 

At  this  moment  his  eye,  lowered  in 
his  confusion,  fell  on  the  shapely 
white  arm  and  delicate  hand  that 
curled  round  his  elbow  like  a  tender 
vine,  and  it  flashed  across  him  how 
he  had  just  seen  that  lovely  limb  em- 
ployed on  Floretta. 

He  trembled  and  blushed. 

"  Alas  ! "  said  the  princess,  "  I 
scare  him.  Am  I  then  so  very  terri- 
ble ?  Is  it  my  Roman  robe  1  I  '11 
dofl"  it,  and  habit  me  as  when  thou 
first  camest  to  me.  Mindest  thou  ? 
'T  -was  to  write  a  letter  to  yon  barren 
knight  Ercole  d'Orsini.  Shall  I  teU 
thee  ?  't  was  the  sight  of  thee,  and 
thy  pretty  ways,  and  thy  wise  words, 
made  me  hate  him  on  the  instant.  I 
liked  the  fool  well  enough  before,  or 
wist  I  liked  him.  Tell  me  now  how 
many  times  hast  thou  been  here  since 
then.  Ah  !  thou  knowest  not ;  lov- 
est  me  not,  I  doubt,  as  I  love  thee. 
Eighteen  times,  Gerardo.  And  each 
time  dearer  to  me.  The  day  thou 
comest  not  't  is  night,  not  day,  to 
Claelia.  Alas !  I  speak  for  both. 
Cruel  boy,  am  I  not  worth  a  word  ■? 
Hast  every  day  a  princess  at  thy  feet  ? 
Nay,  prithee,  prithee,  speak  to  me, 
Gerar-do." 

"  Signora,"  faltered  Gerard,  "  what 
can  I  say,  that  were  not  better  left 
unsaid?  O  evil  day  that  ever  I 
came  here. " 

'  Ah,  say  not  so.  'T  was  the  bright- 
est day  ever  shone  on  me ;  or  indeed 


298 


THE    CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


on  thee.     I  '11  make  thee  confess  bo 
much  crclonp;,  un^iratct'iil  one." 

"  Your  lii;^hncs.s,"  begun  Gerard, 
In  a  low,  pleailinfi  voice. 

"  Call  me  C'lalia,  (ierar-do." 

"  Sigjiora,  I  am  too  youuf:  and  too 
little  wise  to  know  how  I  ought  to 
speak  to  you,  sons  not  to  seem  hlind 
nor  yet  ungrateful.  But  thi.s  I  know, 
I  were  both  naiight  and  ungrateful,  ! 
and  the  worst  foe  e'er  yon  iiad,  did 
I  take  advantage  of  this  mad  fancy,  j 
Sure  some  ill  spirit  hath  had  ivave  to 
afflict  you  withal.  For  't  is  all  unnat- 
ural that  a  princess  adorned  with  every 
grace  should  abase  her  atfections  on  u 
churl." 

The  princess  withdrew  her  hand 
slowly  from  Gerard's  wrist. 

Yet  as  it  passed  lightly  ovcrhi.s  arm 
it  seemed  to  linger  a  moment  at  part- 
ing. 

"  Yon  fear  the  daggers  of  mv  kins- 
men," said  she,  half  sadly,  half  con- 
temptuously. 

"  No  more  than  I  fear  the  bodkins 
of  your  women,"  saitl  (Jerard,  haugh- 
tily. "  But  I  fear  God  and  tiie  saints, 
and  my  own  conscience." 

"  The  truth,  Gerard,  the  truth  ! 
Hypocrisy  sits  awkwanlly  on  thee. 
Princesses,  while  they  are  young,  arc 
not  desjjised  for  love  of  God,  but  of 
some  other  woman.  Tell  me  whom 
thou  lovest :  and,  if  she  is  worthy  thee, 
I  will  forgive  tiiee." 

"  No  she  in  Italy,  mwu  my  soul." 

"  Ah !  there  is  one  somewhere,  then. 
Where  ?  where  >  " 

"  In  Holland,  my  native  country." 

"  Ah  !  Marie  dc  Bourgogne  is  fair, 
they  say.     Yet  she  is  but  a  child." 

"  Princess,  she  I  love  is  not  noble. 
She  is  as  I  am.  Nor  is  she  so  fair  as 
thou.  Yet  is  she  fair;  and  linked  to 
my  heart  forever  by  her  virtues,  and 
by  all  the  dangers  and  griefs  we  have 
borne  together,  and  for  one  another. 
Forgive  me  ;  but  I  would  not  wrong 
my  Margaret  for  all  the  highest  dames 
in  Italy." 

The  slighted  beauty  started  to  her 
feet,  and  stood  opposite  him,  as  beau- 
tiful, but  far  more  terrible  than  when 


she  slapped  Floretta,  for  then  he* 
cheeks  were  red,  but  now  they  were 
pale,  and  lier  eyes  full  of  concen- 
trated I'ury. 

"  This  to  mv  face,  immannen>d 
wretch  7  "  she  cried.  "  Was  1  bom  to 
l)e  insulted,  as  well  as  sconicd,  by 
such  as  thou  ?  Beware  !  We  nobles 
brook  no  rivals.  Bethink  thee  wheth- 
er is  better,  the  love  of  a  C'esarini,  or 
her  hate  :  for,  after  all  I  have  said 
and  done  to  thee,  it  must  be  love  or 
hate  between  us,  and  to  the  death. 
Choose  nt)W  !  " 

He  looked  up  at  her  with  wonder 
and  awe,  as  she  stood  towering  over 
him  in  her  Koman  toga,  ottering  this 
strange  alternative. 

Ho  seemed  to  have  affronted  a  god- 
dess of  antiquity ;  he  a  poor  puny 
mortal. 

He  sighed  deeply,  but  spoke  not 

Perhaps  sometiiing  in  his  decj)  and 
patient  sigh  touclud  a  tender  chord 
m  that  ungoverncd  creature  ;  or  per- 
haps the  time  had  come  for  one  pas- 
sion to  ebb  and  anothi-r  toflow.  The 
j)rincess  sank  languidly  into  a  seat,  and 
the  tears  began  to  steal  rapidly  down 
her  checks. 

"  Alas  !  alas  ! "  said  Gerard. 
"  Weep  not,  sweet  lady  ;  your  tears 
they  do  accuse  me,  and  I  am  like  to 
weep  for  company.  My  kiml  patn^n, 
be  yourself!  you  will  live  to  see  how 
much  Ijctter  a  friend  I  was  to  you 
than  I  seemed." 

"  I  see  it  now,  Gcrardo,"  said  the 
princess.  "  Friend  is  the  word  :  the 
only  word  can  ever  piuss  between  us 
twain.  I  was  mad.  Any  other  man 
had  ta'cn  advantage  of  my  folly. 
You  must  teach  me  to  be  your  friend 
and  nothing  more." 

Gerard  hailed  this  proposition  with 
joy  ;  and  told  her  out  of  Cicero  how 
godlike  a  thing  was  friendship,  and 
how  much  better  and  rarer  and  more 
lasting  than  love  :  to  prove  to  her  lie 
was  capable  of  it,  he  even  told  her 
about  Denys  and  himself. 

She  listened  with  her  eyes  half  shut, 
watching  his  words  to  fathom  his 
character,  and  learn  his  weak  point. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


299 


At  last  she  addressed  him  calmly 
ihus.  "  Leave  me  now,  Gerardo ; 
and  come  as  usual  to-morrow.  You 
•will  find  your  lesson  well  bestowed." 
She  held  out  her  hand  to  him  :  he 
kissed  it :  and  went  away  pondering 
deeply  this  strange  interview,  and 
wondering  whether  he  had  done  pru- 
dently or  not. 

The  next  day  he  was  received  with 
marked  distance,  and  the  princess 
stood  before  him  literally  like  a  stat- 
ue, and,  after  a  very  short  sitting,  ex- 
cused herself  and  dismissed  him.  Ge- 
rard felt  the  chilling  difference,  but 
said  to  himself,  "  She  is  wise."  So 
she  was  in  her  way. 

The  next  day  he  found  the  princess 
waiting  for  him,  surrounded  by  young 
nobles  flattering  her  to  the  skies. 
She  and  they  treated  him  like  a  dog 
who  could  do  one  little  trick  they 
could  not.  The  cavaliers  in  particu- 
lar criticised  his  work  with  a  mass  of 
ignorance  and  insolence  combined 
that  made  his  cheeks  burn. 

The  princess  watched  his  face  de- 
murely vrith  half-closed  eyes,  at  each 
sting  the  insects  gave  him ;  and, 
when  they  had  fled,  had  her  doors 
closed  against  every  one  of  them  for 
their  pains. 

The  next  day  Gerard  found  her 
alone  :  cold  and  silent.  After  stand- 
ing to  him  so  some  time,  she  said, 
"  You  treated  my  company  with  less 
respect  than  became  you." 

"  Did  I,  signora  ? ' 

"  Did  youl  you  fired  up  at  the 
comments  they  did  you  the  honor  to 
make  on  your  work." 

"  Nay,  I  said  naught,"  observed  Ge- 
rard. 

"  0,  high  looks  speak  as  plain  as 
high  words.  Your  cheeks  were  as 
red  as  blood." 

"  I  was  nettled  a  moment  at  seeing 
so  much  ignorance  and  ill-nature  to- 
gether. " 

"  Now  it  is  me,  their  hostess,  you 
affront." 

"Forgive  me,  signora,  and  acquit 
me  of  design.  It  would  ill  become 
me    to   affront    tho    kindest   patron 


and  friend  I  hare  in  Rome,  —  but 
one." 

"  How  humble  we  are  all  of  a  sud- 
den. In  sooth,  Ser  Gerardo,  you 
are  a  capital  feigner.  You  can  insult 
or  truckle  at  will." 

"  Truckle  ?  to  whom  ?  " 

"  To  me,  for  me ;  to  one  whom 
you  affronted  for  a  base-born  girl  like 
yourself,  but  whose  patronage  you 
claim  all  the  same." 

Gerard  rose  and  put  his  hand  to 
his  heart.  "  These  are  biting  words, 
signora.  Have  I  really  deserved 
them  1 " 

"  O,  what  are  words  to  an  adven- 
turer like  you  1  cold  steel  is  all  you 
fear." 

"  I  am  no  swashbuckler,  yet  I  have 
met  steel  with  steel :  and  methinks  I 
had  rather  face  your  kinsmen's  swords 
than  your  cruel  tongue,  lady.  Why 
do  you  use  me  so  ?  " 

"  Gerar-do,  for  no  good  reason,  but 
because  I  am  wayward,  and  shrewish, 
and  curst,  and  because  everybody  ad- 
mires me,  but  you." 

"  I  admire  you  too,  signora.  Your 
friends  may  flatter  you  more  ;  but  be- 
lieve me  they  have  not  the  eye  to  see 
half  your  charms.  Their  babble  yes- 
terday showed  me  that.  None  admire 
you  more  truly,  or  wish  you  better, 
than  the  poor  artist,  who  might  not 
be  your  lover,  but  hoped  to  be  your 
friend  ;  but  no,  I  see  that  may  not  be 
between  one  so  high  as  you  and  one 
so  low  as  I." 

"  Ay !  but  it  shall,  Gerardo,"  said 
the  princess,  eagerly.  "  I  will  not  be 
so  curst.  Tell  me  now  where  abides 
thy  Margaret ;  and  I  will  give  thee 
a  present  for  her ;  and  on  that  you 
and  I  will  be  friends." 

"  She  is  the  daughter  of  a  physician 
called  Peter,  and  they  bide  at  Sev- 
enbergen ;  ah  me,  shall  I  e'er  see 
it  again '? " 

"  'T  is  well.  Now  go."  And  she 
dismissed  him  somewhat  abruptly. 

Poor  Gerard.  He  began  to  wade 
in  deep  waters  when  he  encountered 
this  Italian  princess  ;  callida  et  calida 
solis  filia.    He  resolved  to  go  no  more 


300 


THE  CLOISTER   AND   TIIK   HKARTH. 


when  once  he  had  finished  her  like* 
rifss.  Iii(I*<m1  ho  now  rcj^Tetted  havinp 
undertaken  so  lonj^  and  laborious  ii 
ta.^k. 

This  resohition  was  shaken  for  a 
mimient  hy  his  next  rtctption,  whieh 
was  111!  j;entlcncss  and  kinilness. 

After  standiii;;  to  him  some  time  in 
her  to^a,  she  said  she  was  fatijjued, 
and  wanted  his  assistance  in  another 
way  :  would  he  teach  her  to  draw  a 
little  f  He  sat  down  l)eside  lier,  and 
taught  her  to  make  easy  lines.  He 
found  her  wonderfully  apt.     He  said 

80. 

"  I  had  a  teacher  before  thee,  Ge- 
rardo.  Ay,  and  one  as  iiandsonie  as 
thyself"  She  then  went  to  a  drawer, 
and  lirou^'ht  out  several  heads  drawn 
witii  coiniilcte  i;;noranee  of  the  art, 
hilt  with  threat  patience  and  natural 
talent.  They  were  all  heads  of  Ge- 
rard, and  full  of  sfiirit :  and  really  not 
unlike.  One  was  his  verj-  image. 
"  There,"  said  she.  "  Now,  thou 
secst  who  was  my  teacher." 

"  Not  I,  sin;iiorn." 

"  What,  know  you  not  who  teaches 
vs  women  to  do  all  thinps  ?  'T  is 
'x)ve,  Cicrar-do.  Love  made  me  draw 
because  thou  drawest,  Gcrar-do.  Ixive 
jirints  thine  iniajje  in  my  l)osom.  My 
finders  touch  the  pen,  and  love  sup- 
jilies  the  want  of  art,  and  lo  !  thy  be- 
loved features  lie  upon  the  paper." 

Gerard  opened  his  eyes  with  aston- 
ishment at  this  return  to  an  interdict- 
ed topic.  "  ()  sif^nora,  you  promised 
me  to  be  friends  and  notliin;^  more." 

She  laii|fhed  in  his  face.  "  How 
simple  you  are  ;  who  believes  a  wo- 
man promising  nonsense,  impossibili- 
ties .'  Friendship,  foolish  boy,  who 
ever  built  that  temple  on  red  ashes  ? 
Nay,  Gerardo,"  she  added  gloomily, 
"  bctAveen  thee  and  me  it  must  be  love 
or  hate." 

"  Which  you  will,  signora,"  said 
Gerard,  tirm'ly.  "  But  for  me  I  will 
neither  love  nor  hate  you  ;  but  with 
your  permission  I  will  leave  you." 
And  he  rose  abruptly. 

She  rose  too,  pale  as  death,  and 
said,  "  Ere  thou  leaves*  me  so,  know 


thy  fate  ;  outside  that  i\oor  arc  armod 
men  who  wait  to  ^lay  thee  at  u  word 
from  me." 

"  But  vou  will  not  sj)eak  that  word, 
signora.'' 

•■  That  word  I  will  speak.  Nay, 
more,  1  shall  noi.se  it  abroad  it  wna 
for  proffering  brutal  love  to  me  thou 
wert  slain  ;  and  I  will  seinl  a  sjK'cial 
messenger  to  Sevcnbergeii,  a  cunning 
nies.senger,  well  taught  his  lesson 
Thv  Margaret  shall  know  thee  dead, 
and  think  thee  faithless  ;  now,  go  to 
thy  grave,  a  dog's.  For  a  man  thou 
art  not." 

Cicrard  turned  {lale,  and  stood 
diimbstricken.  "  God  have  mercy  on 
us  Ixith." 

"  Nay,  have  thou  mercy  on  her, 
and  on  thyself  She  will  never  know 
in  Holland  what  thou  dost  in  Home, 
unless  1  he  driven  to  tell  her  my  tale. 
Come,  yield  thee,  (icrar-do  mio : 
w  hat  will  it  cost  thee  to  say  thou  lov- 
est  mc  ?  I  ask  thee  but  to  feign  it 
handsomely.  Thou  art  young :  die 
not  for  the  ])00t  pleasure  of  denying  a 
lady  what!"  —  the  shadow  of  a  heart. 
Who  will  shed  a  tear  (or  thee  '(  I  tell 
thee  men  will  laugh,  not  weep,  over 
thy  tombstone,  —  ah!"  She  ended 
in  a  little  scream,  for  Gerard  threw 
himself  in  a  moment  at  her  feet,  and 
poured  out  in  one  torrent  of  eloijuenco 
the  story  of  his  love  and  Margaret's. 
How  he  had  bi'eii  impri.>-oned,  hunted 
with  bloodhounds  for  her,  driven  to 
exile  for  her ;  how  she  had  shed  her 
blotKl  for  him,  and  now  j>ined  at 
home.  How  he  had  walked  through 
Europe,  environed  by  jierils,  torn  by 
savage  bnites,  attacked  by  furious 
men,  with  sword  and  axe  and  trap, 
robbed,  shipwrecked  for  her. 

The  princess  trembled,  and  tried  to 
get  away  from  him  :  but  he  held  her 
rolx;,  he  clung  to  her,  he  made  her 
hear  his  pitiful  story  and  Margaret's  ; 
he  caught  her  hund,  and  clasped  it 
between  both  his,  and  his  tears  fell 
fast  on  her  hand,  as  he  implored  her 
to  think  on  all  the  woes  of  the  true 
lovers  she  would  part ;  and  what  but 
remorse,  swift  and  lasting,  could  come 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


801 


of  so  deep  a  love  betrayed,  and  so 
false  a  love  feigned,  with  mutual  ha- 
tred lurking  at  the  bottom. 

In  such  moments  none  ever  resisted 
Gerard. 

The  princess,  after  in  vain  trying 
to  get  away  from  him,  for  she  felt  his 
power  over  her,  began  to  waver,  and 
sigh,  and  her  bosom  to  rise  and  fall 
tumultuously,  and  her  fiery  eyes  to 
fill. 

"  You  conquer  me,"  she  sobbed. 
"  You,  or  my  better  angel.  Leave 
Rome  ! " 

"  I  will,  I  will." 

"  If  you  breathe  a  word  of  my  folly, 
it  ynW  be  your  last." 

"  Think  not  so  poorly  of  me.  You 
are  my  benefactress  once  more.  Is  it 
for  me  to  slander  you  ?  " 

"  Go  !  I  will  send  you  the  means. 
I  know  myself ;  if  you  cross  my  path 
again,  I  shall  kill  "you.  Addio ;  my 
heart  is  broken." 

She  touched  her  bell.  "  Floretta," 
said  she,  in  a  choked  voice,  "  take 
him  safe  out  of  the  house  through  my 
chamber  and  by  the  side  poster." 

He  turned  at  the  door;  she  was 
leaning  with  one  hand  on  a  chair, 
crying  with  averted  head.  Then  he 
thought  only  of  her  kindness,  and  ran 
back  and  kissed  her  robe.  She  never 
moved. 

Once  clear  of  the  house  he  darted 
home,  thanking  Heaven  for  his  escape, 
soul  and  body. 

"  Landlad}',"  said  he,  "  there  is  one 
would  pick  a  quarrel  ■nnth  me.  What 
is  to  be  done  ?  " 

"  Strike  him  first,  and  at  vantage  ! 
Get  behind  him  ;  and  then  draw." 

"  Alas,  I  lack  your  Italian  courage. 
To  be  serious,  't  is  a  noble." 

"  0  holy  saints  !  that  is  another 
matter.  Change  thy  lodging  awhile, 
and  keep  snug  ;  and  alter  the  fashion 
of  thy  habits." 

She  then  took  him  to  her  own 
niece,  who  let  lodgings  at  some  little 
distance,  and  installed  him  there. 

He  had  little  to  do  now,  and  no 
princess  to  draw,  so  he  set  himself 
resolutely  to  read  ihat  deed  of  Floris 


Brandt,  from  which  he  had  hithert(? 
been  driven  by  the  abominably  bail 
writing.  He  mastered  it,  and  saw  at 
once  that  the  loan  on  this  land  must 
have  been  paid  over  and  over  again 
by  the  rents,  and  that  Ghysbrecht 
was  keeping  Peter  Brandt  out  of  his 

OWTl. 

"  Fool !  not  to  have  read  this  be- 
fore," he  cried.  He  hired  a  horse 
and  rode  down  to  the  nearest  port. 
A  vessel  was  to  sail  for  Amsterdam 
in  four  days. 

He  took  a  passage,  and  paid  a 
small  sum  to  secure  it. 

"  The  land  is  too  full  of  cutthroats 
for  me,"  said  he ;  "  and  't  is  lovely 
fair  weather  for  the  sea.  Our  Dutch 
skippers  are  not  shipwrecked  like 
these  bungling  Italians." 

When  he  returned  home  there  sat 
his  old  landlady  with  her  eyes  spar- 
kling. 

"  You  are  in  luck,  my  young  mas- 
ter," said  she.  "  All  the  fish  run  to 
your  net  this  day  methinks.  See 
what  a  lackey  hath  brought  to  our 
house !     This'bill  and  this  bag." 

Gerard  broke  the  seals,  and  found 
it  full  of  silver  crowns.  The  letter 
contained  a  mere  slip  of  paper  with 
this  line,  cut  out  of  some  MS.  :  "  La 
lingua  non  ha  osso,  ma  fa  rompere  il 
dosso." 

"  Fear  me  not  !  "  said  Gerard, 
aloud.  "  I  '11  keep  mine  between  my 
teeth." 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  O,  nothing.  Am  I  not  happy, 
dame  ?  I  am  going  back  to  my 
sweetheart  with  money  in  one  pocket, 
and  land  in  the  other."  And  he  fell 
to  dancing  round  her. 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  I  trow  nothing 
could  make  you  happier." 

"  Nothing,  except  to  be  there." 

"  Well,  that  is  a  pity,  for  I  thought 
to  make  you  a  little  happier  with  a 
letter  from  Holland." 

"  A  letter  ?  for  me  1  where  1  how  ? 
who  brought  it  ?     O  dame  !  " 

"A  stranger;  a  painter,  with  a 
reddish  face  and  an  outlandish  name ; 
Anselmin,  I  trow." 


302 


THE  CLOISTER   AND  THE  HKARTH. 


"  Hans  Ilcfrtlinp  ?  a  friend  of  mine. 
God  bless  him." 

"  Ay,  that  is  it ;  Anselniin.  He 
could  seiiree  S[)euk  ii  word,  Imt  a  had 
the  wit  to  name  thee  ;  and  a  put.s  the 
letter  down,  and  a  nods  iind  smile.s, 
iind  I  noils  and  .sniile.s,  and  j^ives  }iim 
a  |iint  o'  wine,  and  it  went  down  him 
like  a  sjxKinful." 

"  That  is  Hans,  honest  Hans.  O 
tlame,  1  am  in  luek  today;  but  I  de- 
ser\'e  it.  For,  I  eare  not  if  I  tell  yon, 
I  liave  just  overeoine  a  ^'reat  tempta- 
tion for  dear  Marpiret's  sake." 

"  Who  is  she  ?  " 

"  Nay,  I  'd  have  my  tonpuc  cut  out 
sooner  than  l»etray  her,  hut  O,  it  myu 
a  tem|)tation.  Ciratitiide  pushinj;  ine 
wron;;.  IJeauty  almost  divine  pull- 
inj;  mc  wron;;  :  eurses,  rejipoache.s, 
and,  hardest  of  all  to  resist,  j^entle 
tears  from  eyes  used  to  eommand. 
Sure  some  saint  heljK'd  nic  ;  An- 
thony klike.  But  my  reward  is 
eomc." 

"  Ay,  is  it,  lad  ;  and  no  farther  off 
than  niv  jweket.  Ojme  out,  (Jerard's 
reward'' ;  and  she  brought  alctterout 
of  lier  capacious  jKJcket. 

Gerard  threw  his  arms  round  her 
ncek  and  luifrpcd  her.  "  My  l)cst 
friend,"  .saiii  he,  "my  second  mother, 
111  read  it  to  you." 

"  Ay,  do,  do." 

"  Alas  !  it  is  not  from  Margaret. 
This  is  not  her  hand."  And  he 
turnc<l  it  about. 

"  Ahuk,  but  nuiylw  her  bill  is  with- 
in. The  lasses  are  aye  for  j,diding 
in  their  btils  under  cover  of  another 
hand." 

"  True.  Whose  hand  is  this  ? 
sure  I  have  seen  it.  I  trow  't  is  my 
dear  friend  the  demoiselle  Van  Eyck. 
O,  then  Margaret's  bill  will  be  in- 
side." He  tore  it  open.  "  Nay,  't  is 
All  in  one  writing.  '  Gerard,  my 
well-beloved  son'  (she  never  called 
me  that  before  that  I  mind),  '  this 
letter  brings  thee  heavy  news  from 
one  would  licver  send  thee  joyful 
tidings.  Know  that  Margaret  Brandt 
died  in  these  arms  on  Thursday  sen- 
night last.'     (What  docs  the  doting 


old  woman  mean  by  that?)  *  The 
last  word  on  hrr  lips  was  "  Gerard  "; 
she  said,  "  Tell  him  1  jirayed  for  him 
at  my  last  hour  ;  and  bid  him  ])ray 
for  me."  She  ili(<l  viry  comfortable, 
and  1  saw  her  laid  in  the  earth,  for 
her  father  was  u.seless,  as  you  shall 
know.  So  no  more  at  ])resent  from 
her  that  is  with  sorrowing  heart  thy 
loving  friend  and  servant, 

"  •  MAUu.vutT  Van  Eyck.' 

"  Av,  that  is  her  signature  sure 
enough.  Now  w  hat  d'  ye  think  of 
that,  dame  ?  "  cried  Gerard,  with  a 
grating  laugh.  "  There  is  a  pretty 
letter  to  send  to  a  poor  fellow  so  far 
from  homo.  But  it  is  Uieht  Heynes 
I  blame  for  humoring  the  old  woman 
aiul  letting  her  do  it ;  as  for  the  old 
woman  herself,  she  doti>s,  she  has  lost 
her  head,  she  is  fourscore.  O  my 
heart,  I  'm  choking.  For  all  that 
she  ought  to  Itc  lockcil  up,  or  her 
hands  tied.  Say  this  had  come  to  a 
ff)ol ;  say  I  was  idiot  enough  to  i>c- 
lievc  this ;  know  ye  what  1  should 
do  ?  nin  to  the  top  of  the  highest 
church-tower  in  Rome  and  (ling  my- 
self ort"  it,  cursing  God.  Woman  ! 
woman  !  what  are  you  doing?  "  And 
he  seized  her  rudely  by  the  shoulder. 
"  What  are  ye  weeiiing  for  ?  "  he 
cried,  in  a  voice  all  unlike  his  own, 
and  loud  and  hoarse  as  a  raven. 
"  Would  ye  scald  me  to  death  with 
vour  tears?  She  IkIIcvcs  it.  She 
believes  it.  Ah  I  ah  I  ah!  ah!  ah! 
ah  !     Then  there  is  no  God." 

The  poor  woman  sighed  and  rocked 
herself.  "  And  must  I  be  the  one  to 
bring  it  thee  all  smiling  and  smirk- 
ing ?  I  could  kill  myself  for  't.  Death 
spares  none,"  she  sobbed,  —  "death 
spares  none." 

Gerard  staggered  against  the  win- 
dow-sill. "  But  God  is  master  of 
death,"  he  groaned.  "  Or  they  have 
taught  me  a  lie.  I  begin  to  fear 
there  is  no  God,  and  the  saints  are 
but  dead  bones,  and  bell  is  master  of 
the  world.  My  pretty  Margaret; 
my  sweet,  my  loving  Margaret.    The 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


303 


best  daughter,  the  truest  lover  !  the 
pride  of  Holland  !  the  darling  of  the 
world !  It  is  a  lie.  Where  is  this 
caitiff  Hans  ■?  I  '11  hunt  him  round 
the  town.  I  '11  cram  his  murdering 
falsehood  down  his  throat." 

And  he  seized  his  hat  and  ran  fu- 
riously about  the  streets  for  hours. 

Towards  sunset  he  came  back 
white  as  a  ghost.  He  had  not  found 
Heniling  :  but  his  poor  mind  had  had 
time  to  realize  the  woman's  simple 
words,  that  Death  spares  none. 

He  crept  into  the  house,  bent  and 
feeble  as  an  old  man,  and  refused  all 
footl.  Nor  would  he  speak,  but  sat, 
white,  with  great  staring  eyes,  mut- 
tering at  intervals,  "  There  is  no 
God." 

Alarmed  both  on  his  account  and 
on  her  own  (for  he  looked  a  desper- 
ate maniac),  his  landlady  ran  for  her 
aunt. 

The  good  dame  came,  and  the  two 
women,  braver  together,  sat  one  on 
each  side  of  him,  and  tried  to  soothe 
him  with  kind  and  confbling  voices. 
But  he  heeded  them  no  more  than  the 
chairs  they  sat  on.  Then  the  young- 
er held  a  crucifix  out  before  him  to 
aid  her.  "  Maria,  Mother  of  Heaven, 
comfort  him,"  they  sighed.  But  he 
sat,  glaring,  deaf  to  all  external 
sounds. 

Presently,  without  any  warning,  he 
jumped  up,  struck  the  crucifix  rudely 
out  of  his  way  with  a  curse,  and  made 
a  headlong  dash  at  the  door.  The 
poor  women  shrieked.  But  ere  he 
reached  the  door  something  seemed 
to  them  to  draw  him  up  straight  by 
his  hair,  and  twirl  him  round  like  a 
top.  He  whirled  twice  round  with 
arms  extended,  then  fell  like  a  dead 
log  upon  the  floor,  Avith  blood  trick- 
ling from  his  nostrils  and  ears. 


CHAPTER    LXII. 

Gerard  returned  to  consciousness 
and  to  despair. 

On  the  second  day  he  was  raving 


with  fever  on  the  brain.  On  a  table 
hard  by  lay  his  rich  auburn  hair,  as 
long  as  a  woman's. 

The  deadlier  symptoms  succeeded 
one  another  rapidly. 

On  the  fifth  day  his  leech  retired, 
and  gave  him  up. 

On  the  sunset  of  that  same  day  he 
fell  into  a  deep  sleep. 

Some  said  he  would  wake  only  to 
die. 

But  an  old  gossip,  whose  opinion 
carried  weiglit  (she  had  been  a  pro- 
fessional nurse),  declared  that  his 
3'outh  might  save  him  yet,  could  he 
sleep  twelve  hours. 

On  this  his  old  landlady  cleared  the 
room,  and  watched  him  alone.  She 
vowed  a  wax  candle  to  the  Virgin  for 
every  hour  he  should  sleep. 

He  slept  twelve  hours. 

The  good  soul  rejoiced,  and  thanked 
the  Virgin  on  her  knees. 

He  slept  twenty-four  hours. 

His  kind  nurse  began  to  doubt.  At 
the  thirtieth  hour  she  sent  for  the  wo- 
man of  art.  "  Thirty  hours  !  shall 
we  wake  him  ?  " 

The  other  inspected  him  closely  for 
some  time. 

"  His  breath  is  even,  his  hand 
moist.  I  know  there  he  learned 
leeches  would  wake  him  to  look  at 
his  tongue,  and  be  none  the  wiser; 
but  we  that  be  women  should  have 
the  sense  to  let  God  Almighty  alone. 
When  did  sleep  ever  harm  the  racked 
brain  or  the  torn  heart  ?  " 

When  he  had  been  forty-eight 
hours  asleep,  it  got  wind^^  and  they 
had  much  ado  to  keep  me  curious 
out.  But  they  admitted  only  Fra 
Colonna  and  his  friend  the  gigantic 
Fra  Jerome. 

These  two  relieved  the  women,  and 
sat  silent;  the  former  eying  his 
young  friend  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 
the  latter  with  beads  in  his  hand 
looked  as  calmly  on  him  as  he  had 
on  the  sea  when  Gerard  and  he  en- 
countered it  hand  to  hand. 

At  last,  I  think  it  was  about  the 
sixtieth  hour  of  this  strange  sleep,  the 
landlady  touched  Fra  Colonna  with 


304 


THE  CLOISTKH   AND   THK   HEARTH. 


her  elbow.     He  looked.     Gerard  liatl 

opiMHil  his  t yes  jut  guntly  as  if  he  hail 
ln't'II  liut  iloziiij^. 

Hu  stanil. 

Ik-  lirew  himself  uj)  a  little  in  l>ed. 

He  |>iit  his  hand  tu  his  head,  anil 
found  his  hair  was  ^one. 

He  noticed  his  friend  Colonna,  and 
smiled  with  pleasure.  Hut  in  the 
middle  of  smiling'  his  fm'e  stojiped, 
and  was  eonvuiseil  in  a  moment  with 
an;,'uish  nnsjH'akahle,  an<l  he  uttert'd 
a  loud  crv,  and  turned  his  faee  to  the 
wall. 

His  ^ood  landlady  wept  at  this. 
She  had  knowti  what  ii  was  to  awake 
iK-reaved. 

Fra  Jirnme  recited  canticles  and 
jirayers  from  his  hreviary. 

(Jeranl  rolled  hinise'lf  in  the  bed- 
clothes. 

Fra  Colonna  went  to  liim,  and, 
whiin|KTin^,  reminded  him  that  all 
wius  not  lost.  The  divine  Muses  were 
immortal.  He  nnist  transfer  his  af- 
fection to  them  ;  they  would  never 
lietray  him,  nor  fail  him  like  crea- 
tures of  clay.  The  p3o<l,  simple  fa- 
ther then  hurrie<l  away  ;  for  he  was 
overcome  by  his  emotion. 

Fra  Jerome  remained  behind. 
"  Yoiin;:  man,"  said  he,  "  the  Muses 
exist  but  in  the  brains  of  pa;;ans  and 
vi.sionaries.  The  Church  alone  fjives 
rej)ose  to  the  heart  on  earth,  and  haj>- 
piness  to  the  soul  hereafter.  Hath 
earth  deceiviMl  thee,  hath  passion  bro 
ken  thy  heart  after  tearin^r  it,  the 
Church  oja-ns  her  anns  ;  consecrate 
thy  ;,'ifts  to  her  !  The  Church  is 
peace  of  mintl." 

He  spoke  these  words  solemnly  at 
the  door,  and  was  gone  as  soon  as 
they  were  uttered. 

"  The  Church  !  "  cried  Gerard,  ris- 
ing furiously  and  sliakin;.'  his  fist  af- 
ter the  friar.  "  Malediction  on  the 
Church  !  But  for  the  Church  I  should 
not  lie  broken  here,  and  she  lie  cold 
cold,  cold,  in  Holland.  O  my  Mar- 
garet !  O  my  darling,  my  darling  ! 
And  I  must  run  from  thee  the  few 
months  thou  hadst  to  live.  Cruel  ! 
cruel !     The  monsters,   they  let  her 


die.  Death  cornea  not  without  •ome 
signs.  These  the  blind,  Kcllisli 
wretches  saw  not,  or  recked  not ;  but 
1  had  seen  them,  1  tiiat  love  her.  <), 
had  I  Ik-cu  there,  I  had  saveil  her,  I 
had  saved  her.  I<liot !  idiot !  to  leavo 
her  for  a  moment." 

He  wejtt  bitterly  for  a  long  time. 

Then,  suddenly  bursting  into  rogo 
aL'ain,  he  cried  vehemently:  "The 
Church  !  for  whose  sake  I  was  driven 
from  her ;  mv  nudison  Ih-  on  tho 
Church  !  and  tfie  hyjiocrites  that  name 
it  to  my  broken  heart.  Accursetl  bo 
the  world!  (;hysl)recht  lives:  Mar- 
garet dies.  Thieves,  murderers,  har- 
lots, live  forever.  Only  angels  die. 
Curse  lifi'!  curse  death!  and  whoso- 
ever made  them  what  they  are  I  " 

The  friar  did  not  hear  these  mad 
and  wicked  words  ;  but  only  the  yell 
of  rage  with  which  they  were  tiung 
after  him. 

It  was  as  well.  For,  if  he  had 
heard  them,  he  would  have  had  his 
late  shipmatt-  btirneil  in  the  forum 
with  as  littie  hesitation  as  he  would 
have  roasted  a  kid. 

His  olil  landlady,  w)io  had  accom- 

1)anie<l  Fra  Colonna  down  the  stair, 
leard  the  raised  voice,  and  returned 
in  some  anxiety. 

She  found  (Jerard  putting  on  his 
clothes  and  crA'ing. 

She  remonstrated. 

"  What  avails  my  lying  here  ? " 
said  he,  gloomilv,  "  Can  I  find  hero 
that  which  I  seek  ?  " 

•'Saints  presene  ns !  Is  he  dis- 
traught again '     What  .seek  yc  ?  " 

"  Oblivion." 

"  Oblivion,  my  little  heart  ?  O, 
but  v'  arc  young  to  talk  so." 

"  Voung  or  old,  what  else  have  I  to 
live  for  7" 

He  put  on  his  licst  clothes. 

The  good  dame  remonstrated. 
"  My  pretty  Gerard,  know  that  it  is 
Tuesday,  not  Sunday." 

"  O,  Tuesday  is  it  '  I  thought  it 
had  been  Saturday." 

"  Nay,  thou  hast  slept  long.  Thou 
never  wcarest  thy  brave  clothes  on 
working-days.     Consider." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


305 


"What  I  did,  when  she  lived,  I 
did.  Now  I  shall  do  whatever  erst  I 
did  not.  The  past  is  past.  There 
lies  my  hair,  and  with  it  my  ways  of 
life.  1  have  served  one  master  as 
well  as  I  could.  You  see  my  reward. 
Now  I  '11  serve  another,  and  give  him 
a  fair  trial  too." 

"  Alas  ! "  sighed  the  woman,  turn- 
ing pale,  "  what  mean  these  dark 
words  '?  and  what  new  master  is  this 
whose  service  thou  wouldst  try  1  " 

"  Satan." 

And,  with  this  horrible  declaration 
on  his  lips,  the  miserable  creature 
walked  out  with  his  cap  and  feather 
set  jauntily  on  one  side,  and  feeble 
limbs,  and  a  sinister  face  pale  as 
ashes,  and  all  drawn  down  as  if  by 
age. 


CHAPTER   LXni. 

A  DARK  cloud  fell  on  a  noble  mind. 

His  pure  and  unrivalled  love  for 
Margaret  had  been  his  polar  star. 
It  was  quenched,  and  he  drifted  on 
the  gloomy  sea  of  no  hope. 

Nor  was  he  a  prey  to  despair  alone, 
but  to  exasperation  at  all  his  self-de- 
nial, fortitude,  perils,  virtue,  wasted 
and  worse  than  wasted  ;  for  it  kept 
burning  and  stinging  him,  that,  had 
he  stayed  lazily,  selfishly  at  home,  he 
should  have  saved  his  Margaret's  life. 

These  two  poisons,  raging  together 
in  his  young  blood,  maddened  and 
demoralized  him.  He  rushed  fiercely 
into  pleasure.  And  in  those  days, 
even  more  than  now,  pleasure  was 
vice. 

Wine,  women,  gambling,  whatever 
could  procure  him  an  hour's  excite- 
ment and  a  moment's  oblivion.  He 
plunged  into  these  things,  as  men 
tired  of  life  have  rushed  among  the 
enemy's  bullets. 

The  large  sums  he  had  put  by  for 
Margaret  gave  him  ample  means  for 
debauchery,  and  he  was  soon  the 
leader  of  those  loose  companions  he 
had  hitherto  kept  at  a  distance. 


His  heart  deteriorated  along  with 
his  morals. 

He  sulked  with  his  old  landlady 
for  thrusting  gentle  advice  and  warn- 
ing on  him  ;  and  finally  removed  to 
another  part  of  the  town,  to  be  clear 
of  remonstrance  and  reminiscences. 
When  he  had  carried  this  game  on 
some  time,  his  hand  became  less 
steady,  and  he  could  no  longer  write 
to  satisfy  himself.  Moreover,  his  pa- 
tience declined  as  the  habits  of  jileas- 
ure  grew  on  him.  So  he  gave  up 
that  art,  and  took  likenesses  in  col- 
ors. 

But  this  he  neglected  whenever  the 
idle  rakes,  his  companions,  came  for 
him. 

And  so  he  dived  in  foul  waters, 
seeking  that  sorry  oyster-shell,  obliv- 
ion. 

It  is  not  my  business  to  paint  at 
full  length  the  scenes  of  coarse  vice 
in  which  this  unhappy  young  man 
now  played  a  part.  But  it  is  my 
business  to  impress  the  broad  truth, 
that  he  was  a  rake,  a  debauchee,  and 
a  drunkard,  and  one  of  the  wildest, 
loosest,  wickedest  young  men  in 
Rome. 

They  are  no  lovers  of  truth,  nor  of 
mankind,  who  conceal  or  slur  the 
wickedness  of  the  good,  and  so  by 
their  want  of  candor  rob  despondent 
sinners  of  hope. 

Enough  the  man  was  not  born  to 
do  things  by  halves.  And  he  was 
not  vicious  by  halves. 

His  humble  female  friends  often 
gossiped  about  him.  His  old  land- 
lady told  Teresa  he  was  going  to  the 
bad,  and  prayed  her  to  try  and  find 
out  where  he  was. 

Teresa  told  her  husband  Lodovico 
his  sad  story,  and  bade  him  look 
about  and  see  if  he  could  discover 
the  young  man's  present  abode. 
"  Shouldst  remember  his  face,  Lodo- 
vico mio  1  " 

"  Teresa,  a  man  in  my  way  of  life 
never  forgets  a  face,  least  of  all  a  ben- 
efactor's. But  thou  knowest  I  sel- 
dom go  abroad  by  daylight." 


806 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTTl. 


Teresa  sighed.  "  And  how  long  is 
it  to  he  so,  Ixjdovico  f  " 

"  Till  some  ravalior  passes  his 
sword  thr(iii;,'h  me.  They  will  not 
let  a  poor  (iliow  like  me  take  to  any 
honest  trade." 

Pietro  Vanucci  was  one  of  those 
who  bear  jjrospcrity  worse  than  ad- 
versity. 

llavinp  \yecn  ipnominiously  ejected 
for  lute  hours  by  their  old  landlady, 
and  nieetinfj  Gerard  in  the  street,  he 
greeted  him  warmly,  and  soon  after 
took  up  his  quarters  in  the  same 
house. 

He  brought  with  him  a  lad  called 
Andrea,  who  grouiul  his  colors,  and 
was  his  jiupil,  and  alio  his  model,  be- 
ing a  youth  of  rare  beauty,  and  as 
sharp  as  a  needle. 

Pietro  had  not  quite  forgotten  old 
times,  and  j)rotesscd  a  warm  friend- 
ship tor  (ienird. 

Cienird,  in  whom  all  warmth  of 
sentiment  seemed  extinct,  submitted 
coldly  to  the  other's  friendship. 

And  a  fine  acquaintance  it  was. 
This  Pietro  was  not  only  a  libertine, 
but  half  a  misanthrope,  and  an  open 
infidel. 

And  so  they  ran  in  couples,  with 
mighty  little  in  common.  O  rare 
phenomenon ! 

One  day  when  Gerard  had  under- 
mined his  healtli,  and  taken  the 
bloom  off"  his  beauty,  and  run  through 
most  of  his  money,  Vanucci  got 
up  a  gay  party  to  mount  the  Tiber  in 
a  boat  drawn  by  buffaloes.  Lorenzo 
de'  Medici  had  imported  these  crea- 
tures into  Europe  about  three  years 
before.  But  they  were  new  in  Rome, 
and  nothing  would  content  this  beg- 
gar on  horseback,  Vanucci,  but  being 
drawn  by  the  brutes  up  the  Tiber. 

Each  libertine  was  to  bring  a  lady  ; 
and  she  must  be  handsome,  or  he  be 
fined.  But  the  one  that  should  con- 
tribute the  loveliest,  was  to  be  crowned 
with  laurel  and  voted  a  public  bene- 
factor. Such  was  their  reading  of 
*  Vir  bonus  est  quis  ■?  "  They  got  a 


splendid  galley,  and  twelve  buffaloca, 
And  ail  the  liljertines  and  their  female 
aeeompliees  asseiniiled  by  degrees  at 
the  place  of  embarkation.  But  no 
Gerard. 

They  waited  for  him  some  time,  at 
first  patiently,  then  impatiently. 

Vanucci  excused  him.  "  I  heard 
him  say  he  had  forgotten  to  provide 
himself  witli  a  farthingale.  Com- 
rades, the  g(»od  lad  is  hunting  for  a 
beauty  fit  to  take  rank  among  these 
jK'crless  diunes.  Consider  the  diffi- 
culty, ladies,  and  be  patient !  " 

At  last  Gerard  was  seen  at  some 
distance  with  a  female  in  his  hand. 

"  She  is  long  enough,"  said  one  of 
her  sex,  criticising  her  from  afar. 

"  Gemini !  what  steps  she  takes," 
said  another.  "  O,  it  is  wise  to 
hurry  into  good  eonjpany,"  was  Pi- 
etro's  excuse. 

But,  when  the  pair  came  up,  satire 
was  choked. 

Gerard's  companion  was  a  j)eerlcs8 
beauty ;  she  extinguished  the  boat- 
load, as  stars  the  rising  sun.  Tali, 
but  not  too  tall ;  and  straight  as  a 
dart,  yet  supple  as  a  young  panther. 
Her  face  a  perfect  oval,  her  forehead 
white,  her  cheeks  a  rich  olive  with  the 
eloquent  blood  mantling  J)eIow  ;  and 
her  glorious  eyes  fringed  with  long 
thick  silken  eyelashes,  that  seemed 
made  to  sweep  up  sensitive  hearts  by 
the  half-dozen.  Saucy  red  lips,  and 
teeth  of  the  whitest  ivory. 

The  women  were  visibly  depressed 
by  this  wretched  sight ;  the  men  ia 
ecstasies  ;  they  received  her  with  loud 
shouts  and  waving  of  caps,  and  one 
enthusiast  even  went  down  on  his 
knees  upon  the  boat's  gunwale,  and 
hailed  her  of  origin  divine.  But  his 
chere  amie  pulling  his  hair  for  it, 
and  the  goddess  giving  him  a  little 
kick,  contemporaneously,  he  lay  su- 
pine :  and  the  peerless  creature  frisked 
over  his  body  without  deigning  him  a 
look,  and  took  her  seat  at  the  prow. 
Pietro  Vanucci  sat  in  a  sort  of  col- 
lapse, glaring  at  her,  and  gaping  with 
his  mouth  open,  like  a  dying  codfish. 

The  drover  spoke  to  {he  buffaloes. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


307 


the  ropes  tightened,  and  they  moved 
up  stream. 

"  What  think  ye  of  this  new  beef, 
mesdaraes  ?  " 

"  We  ne'er  saw  monsters  so  vilely 
ill-favored:  with  their  nasty  horns 
that  make  one  afeard,  and  their  foul 
nostrils  cast  up  into  the  air.  Holes 
be  they  ;  not  nostrils." 

"  Signorina,  the  beeves  are  a  pres- 
ent from  Florence  the  beautiful. 
Would  ye  look  a  gift  beef  i'  the 
nose  ? " 

"  They  are  so  dull,"  objected  a 
lively  lady.  "  I  went  up  Tiber  twice 
as  fast  last  time  with  but  five  mules 
and  an  ass." 

"  Nay,  that  is  soon  mended,"  cried 
a  gallant,  and  jumping  ashore  he  drew 
his  sword,  and,  despite  the  remon- 
strances of  the  drivers,  went  down 
the  dozen  buffaloes  goading  them. 

They  snorted  and  whisked  their 
tails,  and  went  no  faster,  at  Avhich  the 
boat-load  laughed  loud  and  long : 
finally  he  goaded  a  patriarch  bull, 
who  turned  instantly  on  the  sword, 
sent  his  long  horns  clean  through  the 
spark,  and  with  a  furious  jerk  of  his 
prodigious  neck  sent  him  flying  over 
his  head  into  the  air.  He  described 
a  bold  parabola  and  fell  sitting,  and 
unconsciously  waving  his  glittering 
blade,  into  the  yellow  Tiber.  The 
laughing  ladies  screamed  and  wrung 
their  hands,  all  but  Gerard's  fair. 
She  uttered  something  verj'  like  an 
oath,  and  seizing  the  helm  steered 
the  boat  out,  and  the  gallant  came  up 
sputtering,  griped  the  gunwale,  and 
was  drawn  in  dripping. 

He  glared  round  him  confusedly. 
''  I  understand  not  that,"  said  he,  a 
little  peevishly  ;  puzzled,  and  there- 
fore it,  would  seem,  discontented.  At 
which,  finding  he  was  by  some  strange 
accident  not  slain,  his  doublet  being 
perforated,  instead  of  his  body,  they  be- 
gan to  laugh  again  louder  than  ever. 

"  What  are  ye  cackling  at  ?  "  re- 
monstrated the  spark.  "  I  desire  to 
know  how  't  is  that  one  moment  a 
gentleman  is  out  yonder  a  pricking  of 


African  beef,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment —  " 

Gerard's  lady.  "  Disporting  m  his 
native  stream." 

"  Tell  him  not,  a  soul  of  ye," 
cried  Vanucci.  "  Let  him  find  out 
's  own  riddle." 

"  Confound  ye  all,  I  might  puzzle 
my  brains  till  doomsday,  I  should 
ne'er  find  it  out.  Also,  where  is  my 
sword  ? " 

Ge)-ard's  lady.  "  Ask  Tiber !  Your 
best  way,  signor,  will  be  to  do  it  over 
again  ;  and,  in  a  word,  keep  pricking 
of  Afric's  beef,  till  your  mind  receives 
light.  So  shall  you  comprehend  the 
matter  by  degrees,  as  lawyers  mount 
heaven,  and  buffaloes  Tiber." 

Here  a  chevalier  remarked  that  the 
last  speaker  transcended  the  sons  of 
Adam  as  much  in  wit  as  she  did  the 
daughters  of  Eve  in  beauty. 

At  which,  and  indeed  at  all  their 
compliments,  the  conduct  of  Pietro 
Vanucci  was  peculiar.  That  signor 
had  left  off  staring,  and  gaping  be- 
wildered ;  and  now  sat  coiled  up 
snakelike,  on  a  bench,  his  mouth  muf- 
fled, and  two  bright  eyes  fixed  on  the 
lady,  and  tAvinkling  and  scintillating 
most  comically. 

He  did  not  appear  to  interest  or 
amuse  her  in  return.  Her  glorious 
eyes  and  eyelashes  swept  him  calmly 
at  times,  but  scarce  distinguished  him 
from  the  benches  and  things. 

Presently  the  imanimity  of  the  par- 
ty suffered  a  momentary  check. 

Mortified  by  the  attention  the  cava- 
liers paid  to  Gerard's  companion,  the 
ladies  began  to  pick  her  to  pieces 
sotto  voce,  and  audibly. 

The  lovely  girl  then  showed  that, 
if  rich  in  beauty,  she  was  poor  in 
feminine  tact.  Instead  of  revenging 
herself  like  a  true  woman  through  the 
men,  she  permitted  herself  to  over- 
hear, and  openly  retaliate  on  her  de- 
tractors. 

"  There  is  not  one  of  you  that 
wears  nature's  colors,"  said  she. 
"  Look  here,"  and  she  pointed  rudely 
in  one's  face.  "  This  is  the  beauty 
that  is  to  be  bought  in  every  shop 


308 


THE  CLOISTER   AND   THK   UKAHTH. 


Here  is  ccrussa,  here  is  stibium,  and 
here  piir])missum.  O,  I  know  the 
articles  ;  IjIlss  you,  I  use  tliem  everv 
day,  —  but  not  on  n»y  face,  no  tluink 
you." 

Here  Vanucci's  eyes  twinkled  them- 
selves nearly  out  ot'si<^ht. 

"  Why,  your  lips  are  colored,  and 
the  very  veins  in  your  forehead  :  not 
a  charm  liut  would  come  otl"  with  a 
wet  towel.  And  look  at  your  j^reat 
coarse  black  hair,  like  a  liorse's  tail, 
dru>:;,'ed  and  stained  to  look  like  tow. 
Ami  then  your  bodies  are  ivs  false  as 
vour  heads  and  your  cheeks,  and  your 
liearts  1  trow.  Look  at  your  padded 
bosoms,  and  your  wooilen-heeled  cho- 
pines  to  rai.>»e  your  little  stunted  limbs 
up  and  deceive  the  world.  iSkinny 
dwarfs  ye  are,  cushioned  and  stiltitied 
into  great  fat  giants.  Aha,  nics- 
dames,  well  is  it  said  of  you,  grande 

—  di  legui :  grosse  —  di  straci  :  ros.se 

—  di  bettito  :  bianchc  —  di  calcina." 
This  drew  out  a  rejoinder.  '•  Avaunt, 

vulgar  toad,  telling  the  men  e\ery- 
thing.  Your  coarse,  ruddy  checks 
arc  your  own,  and  your  little  handful 
of  African  hair.  But  w  ho  is  padded 
more.  Why,  you  are  shaped  like  a 
fire-shovel." 

"  Ye  lie,  malnj)ert." 

"  O,  the  well-educated  yoimg  per- 
son !  Where  didst  jjick  her  up,  Ser 
Gerard  ?  " 

"  Hold  thy  peace,  Marcia,"  said 
Gerard,  awakened  by  the  raised 
trebles  from  a  gloomy  rcvery.  "  Be 
not  so  insolent !  The  grave  shall 
close  over  thy  beauty,  as  it  hath  over 
fairer  than  tliec." 

"  They  began,"  said  Marcia,  petu- 
lantly. 

"Then  be  thou  the  first  to  leave 
off." 

"At  thy  request,  my  friend."  She 
then  whispered  Gerard  :  "  It  was  only 
to  make  you  laugh :  you  are  dis- 
traught, you  are  sad.  Judge  whether 
I  care  for  the  quips  of  these  little 
fools,  or  the  admiration  of  these  big 
fools.  Dear  Signor  Gerard,  would  I 
were  what  they  take  me  for!  You 
should  not  be  so  sad."     Gerard  sighed 


deeply,  and  slKxjk  his  head.  Bu^ 
touched  by  the  earnest  young  tones, 
cares>cil  the  jet-black  lock^,  niuih  as 
one  strokes  ihe  head  ol  an  atlection- 
ate  dog. 

At  this  moment  a  galley  drifting 
slowly  down  stream  got  cuiangled  tor 
an  instant  in  their  ropes  :  (or,  the 
river  turning  suddenly,  they  had  t-hot 
out  into  the  stream:  and  this  galley 
came  between  them  and  the  bank. 
In  it  a  lady  of  great  beauty  was 
seated  under  a  canojiy,  with  gal- 
lants and  dependants  standing  behind 
her. 

Gerard  looked  up  at  the  interrup- 
tion.    It  was  the  Princess  Cltelia. 

He  c<jlored  and  withdrew  his  hand 
from  Marcia's  head. 

Marcia  was  all  admiration.  "  Aha ! 
ladies,"  saiil  she,  "  here  is  a  rival  an' 
ye  will.  Those  cheeks  were  colored 
by  nature,  —  like  mine." 

"  IVace,  child!  jK'ace!"  said  Ge- 
rard. "  Make  not  too  free  w  ith  the 
great." 

"  Why,  she  heard  me  not.  O  Ser 
Gerard,  what  a  lovely  creature  !  " 

Two  of  the  fenniles  had  In-cn  for 
some  time  past  putting  their  heads 
together  and  castmg  glances  at  Mar- 
cia. 

One  of  them  now  addressed  her. 

"  Signorina,  do  you  love  al- 
monds ? " 

The  speaker  had  a  la])ful  of  them, 

"  Yes,  I  love  them  ;  w  hen  I  can 
get  them,"  said  Marcia,  jattishly,  and 
eying  the  fruit  with  ill-coneealed  de- 
sire ;  "  but  yours  is  not  the  hand  to 
give  me  any,  I  trow." 

"  You  arc  much  mistook,"  said  the 
other.     "  Here,  catch  !" 

And  suddenly  threw  a  double  hand- 
ful into  Marcia's  lap. 

Marcia  brought  her  knees  together 
by  an  irresistible  instinct. 

"Aha!  you  are  caught,  my  lad," 
cried  she  of  the  nuts.  "  'T  is  a  man  ; 
or  a  boy.  A  woman  still  parteth  her 
knees  to  catch  the  nuts  the  surer  in 
her  apron ;  but  a  man  closeth  his  for 
fear  they  shall  fall  between  his  hose. 


THE   CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


309 


Confess,  now,  didst  never  wear  far- 
thingale ere  to-day." 

■'  Give  me  another  handful,  sweet- 
heart, and  I  '11  tell  thee." 

"  There  !  I  said  he  was  too  hand- 
some for  a  woman." 

"  Ser  Gerard,  they  have  found  me 
out,"  observed  the  Epiciene,  calmly 
cracking-  an  almond. 

The  libertines  vowed  it  was  impos- 
sible, and  all  glared  at  the  goddess 
like  a  battery.  But  Vanucci  struck 
in,  and  reminded  the  gaping  gazers 
of  a  recent  controversy,  in  which  they 
had,  with  an  unanimity  not  often 
found  among  dunces,  laughed  Gerard 
and  him  to  scorn  for  saying  that 
men  were  as  beautiful  as  women  in  a 
true  artist's  eye. 

"  Where  are  ye  now  ?  This  is  my 
boy  Andrea.  And  you  have  all  been 
down  on  your  knees  to  him.  Ila ! 
ha !  But  oh,  my  little  ladies,  when 
he  lectured  you  and  flung  your 
stibium,  your  cerussa,  and  your  pur- 
purissum  back  in  jour  faces,  't  is 
then  I  was  like  to  burst ;  a  grinds  my 
colors.     Ha !  ha  !  he  !  he  !  ho  !  ho  !  " 

"  The  little  impostor !  Duck 
him  !  " 

"  What  for,  signors  1  "  cried  An- 
drea, in  dismay,  and  lost  his  rich  car- 
nation. 

But  the  females  collected  round 
him,  and  vowed  nobody  should  harm 
a  hair  of  his  head. 

"  The  dear  child  !  How  well  his 
pretty  little  saucy  ways  become  him." 

"  O  what  eyes  !  and  teeth  !  " 

"And  what  eyebrows  and  hair  !  " 

"  And  what  lashes  !  " 

"And  what  a  nose  !  " 

"  The  sweetest  little  ear  in  the 
fvorld  ! " 

"  And  what  health  !  Touch  but 
his  cheek  with  a  pin  the  blood  should 
squirt." 

"  Who  would  be  so  cruel  1 " 

"  He  is  a  rosebud  washed  in  dew." 

And  they  revenged  themselves  for 
their  beaux'  admiration  of  her  by  lav- 
ishing all  their  tenderness  on  him. 

But  one  there  was  who   was   still 


among  these  butterflies,  but  no  longer 
of  them. 

The  sight  of  the  Princess  Cla;li>= 
had  torn  open  his  wound. 

Scarce  three  months  ago  he  had  de- 
clined the  love  of  that  peerless  crea- 
ture ;  a  love  illicit  and  insane,  but  at 
least  refined.  How  much  lower  had 
he  fallen  now. 

How  happy  he  must  have  been, 
when  the  blandishments  of  Clielia, 
that  might  have  melted  an  anchorite, 
could  not  tempt  him  from  the  path  of 
loyalty. 

Now  what  was  he?  He  had 
blushed  at  her  seeing  him  in  such 
company.  Yet  it  was  his  daily  com* 
pany. 

He  hung  over  the  boat  in  moody 
silence. 

And  from  that  hour  another  phase 
of  his  misery  began,  and  grew  upon 
him. 

Some  wretched  fools  try  to  dro\vD 
care  in  drink. 

The  fumes  of  intoxication  vanish  ; 
the  ine\'itablc  care  remains,  and 
must  be  faced  at  last,  with  an  ach- 
ing head,  a  disordered  stomach,  and 
spirits  artificially  depressed. 

Gerard's  conduct  had  been  of  a 
piece  with  these  maniacs'.  To  sur- 
vive his  terrible  blow  he  needed  all 
his  forces,  — his  virtue,  his  health,  his 
habits  of  labor,  and  tiie  calm  sleep 
that  is  labor's  satellite,  above  all,  his 
piety. 

Yet  all  these  balms  to  wounded 
hearts  he  flung  away,  and  trusted  to 
moral  intoxication. 

Its  brief  fumes  fled ;  the  bereaved 
heart  lay  still  heavy  as  lead  within 
his  bosom;  but  now  the  dark  vulture 
Remorse  sat  upon  it  rending  it. 

Broken  health,  means  wasted,  in- 
nocence fled,  Margaret  parted  from 
him  by  another  gulf  wider  than  tho 
grave ! 

The  hot  fit  of  despair  passed  awaj. 

The  cold  fit  of  despair  came  on. 

Then  this  miserable  young  man 
spurned  his  gay  companions  and  all 
the  world. 

He    wandered    alone.     He    drauk 


310 


TllK    CLOISTER    AND    THE   HEAKTH. 


wino  nliuio  to  stupefy  himnclf;  and 
parulv/.c  11  moiiieiit  the  dark  foes  to 
man  that  pn-vftl  ujkhi  his  soul.  He 
waiii|rn-d  alone  luiiiilst  the  tenipk-fl  of 
f>M  Koine,  iin<l  lay  stony-i*ve<l,  w<«- 
Ix'^ono,  anion;,'  tlieir  ruins,  worse 
wniketl  than  they. 

I-ast  of  nil  «amc  the  climax,  to 
\d»ieh  solitiule,  that  ^'loonty  yet  fiLs- 
einatin^  foe  of  niinil.s  ilisesuw-d,  pushes 
the  hopeless. 

He  wnnilered  alone  at  ni;rht  hy  dark 
streaiiiH,  and  ryitl  them,  and  eyed 
thiin,  with  derreusini;  repu;:nanif. 
There  ^Jlided  jx'ivee,  |M'rhaps  annihi- 
lation. 

What  else  wa-s  left  him  ? 

These  dark  six-lis  have  lioon  broken 
hy  kind  words,  hy  loving  and  eheerful 
voiecs. 

The  humblest  friend  tlic  afflicted 
one  jKW.sessc.s  n>ay  sjH-ak,  or  look,  or 
smile,  a  sunln-am  l>ctwcen  him  and 
that  worst  mailncsa  (icranl  now 
I.rooded. 

Where  wivs  Ten->a  '  Where  his 
hearty,  kind  old  landlady  ' 

They  woiilii  see  l>y  ihcir  homely 
hut  swift  intelliKonee ;  they  wonlil 
see  and  save. 

No:  thev  knew  ntit  where  he  was, 
or  whither  he  wa.-*  ;:lidin^. 

And  is  there  no  mortal  eye  upon 
the  poor  wretch  anil  the  dark  roau  he 

is  K"i"K  ■ 

Ves :  one  eye  there  is  upon  him, 
watehinp  his  every  movement ;  fol- 
lowin;;^  ijirn  ahn^ad,  tracking  him 
home. 

And  that  eye  is  the  eye  of  an  ene- 
my. 

An  enemy  to  the  death. 


CHAPTER  LXIV. 

In  an  apartment  richly  furnished, 
the  floor  covered  with  strit)cd  and 
^potted  skins  of  animals,  a  lady  sat 
with  her  arms  extended  before  her, 
and  her  h.inds  half  clenched.  The 
ajritation  of  her  face  corresponded  with 


this  attituilo  ;  she  was  pole  and  red  b^ 

turns,  und  her  foot  restless. 

I'resently  the  curtain  waa  drawn  by 
a  domestic. 

The  lady's  brow  flushe<l. 

The  nuiitl  said,  in  an  awc-stmck 
whisjM'r,  "  Altez/.a,  the  man  i.s  licrc." 

The  liuly  biule  her  lulrnit  him,  and 
snaCched  up  a  little  Idiuk  musk  and 
put  it  on  ;  and  in  a  m<mient  her  cf>lor 
wi«  ;:one,  and  the  contrast  bctwei-n 
her  bliuk  mask  and  her  marble  ehcekii 
was  stran;;e  and  fearful. 

A  man  entere<l,  Iniwinp  and  »crat>- 
ing.  It  was  such  a  )i;,'ure  as  crowds 
stH'm  made  of;  short  hair,  roundish 
head,  plain,  but  decent  clothes  ;  fea- 
tures neither  comely  nor  forbidding. 
Xothini:  to  remark  in  him  but  a  sin- 
gularly restless  eve. 

After  a  profusion  of  bows,  he  stood 
oi)|M>site  tlie  lady,  and  awaited  her 
plcasiinv 

"  They  have  told  you  for  what  you 
w«'re  wanted." 

•'  Yes,  sijnora." 

"  Pill  tlios*'  wlu)  spoke  to  you  ngrco 
a-H  to  what  you  arc  to  neeive  ?  " 

"  Yes,  si^nora.  'Tis  tlie  full  prii"o; 
and  piireha.sis  the  greater  vemletta : 
unless  of  your  l)oncvolencc  you  chooso 
to  content  yourself  with  the  lesser." 

"  I  understand  vou  not,"  said  the 
lady. 

"Ah;  this  is  the  signora's  first. 
The  Ics-ser  vendetta,  lady,  is  the  death 
of  the  IkmIv  only.  Wc  watch  our  man 
come  out  of  a  church  ;  or  take  him  in 
an  innocent  hour ;  and  fo  <leal  with 
him.  In  the  greater  vendetta  wc 
watch  him,  and  catch  him  hot  from 
some  unrejaiitcd  sin,  and  so  slay  his 
soul  as  well  as  his  bo<ly.  But  this 
vendi'tta  is  not  so  run  u])on  now  as  it 
was  a  few  years  ago." 

"  Man,  silence  mc  his  tongue,  and 
let  his  treasonable  heart  l)cat  no  more. 
But  his  soul  I  have  no  feud  with." 

"  So  be  it,  signora.  He  who  spoke 
to  me  knew  not  the  man,  nor  his 
name,  nor  his  alx)dc.  From  whom 
shall  I  Icam  these  ?  " 

"  From  myself." 

At   this   the  man,   with    the   first 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH, 


311 


symptoms  of  anxiety  he  had  shown, 
entreated  her  to  be  cautious,  and 
particular,  in  this  part  of  the  busi- 
ness. 

"  Fear  mc  not,"  said  she.  "  Listen. 
It  is  a  young  man,  tall  of  stature,  and 
auburn,  hair,  and  dark  blue  eyes,  and 
an  honest  face  would  deceive  a  saint. 
He  lives  in  the  Via  Claudia,  at  the 
corner  house,  the  glover's.  In  that 
house  there  lodge  but  three  males  : 
he,  and  a  painter,  short  of  stature  and 
dark-visaged,  and  a  young,  slim  boy. 
He  that  hath  betrayed  me  is  a  stran- 
ger, fair,  and  taller  than  thou  art." 

The  bravo  listened  with  all  liis  ears. 
"  It  is  enough,"  said  he.  "  Stay,  sig- 
nora,  haunteth  he  any  secret  place 
where  I  may  deal  with  him  ?  " 

"  My  spy  doth  report  me  he  hath 
of  late  frequented  the  banks  of  Tiber 
after  dusk ;  doubtless  to  meet  his  light 
o'  love,  wlio  calls  me  her  rival ;  even 
there  slay  him  !  and  let  my  rival  come 
and  find  him,  the  smooth,  heartless, 
insolent  traitor." 

"  Be  calm,  signora.  He  will  betray 
no  more  ladies." 

"  I  know  not  that.  He  weareth  a 
sword,  and  can  use  it.  He  is  young 
and  resolute." 

"  Neither  will  avail  him." 

"  Are  ye  so  sure  of  your  hand  1 
What  are  your  weapons  ?  " 

The  bravo  showed  her  a  steel  gaunt- 
let. "  We  strike  with  such  force  we 
needs  must  guard  our  hand.  This  is 
our  mallet."  He  then  undid  his  doub- 
let, and  gave  her  a  glimpse  of  a  coat 
of  mail  beneath,  and  finally  laid  his 
glittering  stiletto  on  the  table  with  a 
flourish. 

The  lady  shuddered  at  first,  but 
presently  took  it  up  in  her  hand  and 
tried  its  jwint  against  her  finger. 

"  Beware,  madam,"  said  the  bravo. 

"  What,  is  it  poisoned  ?  " 

"  Saints  forbid  !  We  steal  no  lives. 
We  take  them  with  steel  point,  not 
drugs.  But 't  is  newly  ground,  and 
I  feared  for  the  signora's  white  skin." 

"  His  skin  is  as  white  as  mine," 
Said  she,  with  a  sudden  gleam  of  pity. 
It  lasted  but  a  moment.  "But  his 
14 


heart  is  black  as  soot.  Say,  do  1 
not  well  to  remove  a  traitor  that  slaa 
ders  me  ?  " 

"  The  signora  will  settle  that  with 
her  confessor.  I  am  but  a  tool  in  no- 
ble hands  ;  like  my  stiletto." 

The  princess  appeared  not  to  heai* 
the  speaker.  "  O,  how  I  could  have 
loved  him ;  to  the  death  ;  as  now  1 
hate  him.  Fool !  he  will  learn  to  tri- 
fle with  princes ;  to  spurn  them  and 
fawn  on  them,  and  prefer  the  scum 
of  the  town  to  them,  and  make  them 
a  by-word."  She  looked  up.  "  Why 
loiter'st  thou  here  1  haste  thee,  re- 
venge me."  •' 

"  It  is  customary  to  pay  half  the 
price  beforehand,  signora." 

"  Ah,  I  forgot ;  thy  revenge  is 
bought.  Here  is  more  than  half"  ; 
and  she  pushed  a  bag  across  the  table 
to  him.  "  When  the  blow  is  struck, 
come  for  the  rest." 

''  Vou  will  soon  see  me  again,  sig- 
nora." 

And  he  retired,  bowing  and  scrap- 
ing. 

The  princess,  burning  with  jeal- 
ousy, mortified  pride,  and  dread  of  ex- 
posure (for  till  she  knew  Gerard  no 
public  stain  had  fallen  on  her),  sat 
where  he  left  her,  masked,  with  her 
arms  straight  out  before  her,  and  the 
nails  of  her  clenched  hand  nipping  the 
table. 

So  sat  the  fabled  sphinx  :  so  sits  a 
tigress. 

Yet  there  crept  a  chill  upon  her  now 
that  the  assassin  was  gone.  And 
moody  misgivings  heaved  within  her, 
precursors  of  vain  remorse.  Gerard 
and  Margaret  were  befoi'e  their  age. 
This  was  your  true  mediaeval.  Proud, 
amorous,  vindictive,  generous,  foolisli, 
cunning,  impulsive,  unprincipled ;  and 
ignorant  as  dirt. 

Power  is  the  curse  of  such  a  crea- 
ture. 

Forced  to  do  her  own  crimes,  the 
weakness  of  her  nerves  would  have 
balanced  the  violence  of  her  passions, 
and  her  bark  been  worse  than  her  bite. 
But  power  gives  a  feeble,  furious  wo- 
man   male    instruments.     And    tbf 


312 


THi:   CLOISTKK    AND   TlIK    UKAkTll. 


effect  is  ns  t<TTil)lc  ns  the  coinJiiiiation 
is  uiinntiiral. 

In  this  instniuo  itwhrttcrl  nn  nssas- 
ein's  (h»^'(,'i'r  lor  a  iKX>r  forlorn  wretch 
just  meditating  suicide. 


CllAl'lIIK    LXV. 

It  han[M>ni'd  two  davs  after  the 
K-eiie  I  (lavi-  endeavorinf  to  descrihe, 
tliat  (icmrd,  wnnderiiijj  thn)u^h  one 
of  the  nuanest  streets  in  Home,  was 
overtaken  \>y  a  tliiindcr-stonii,  and  en- 
tered a  low  hostelry.  He  eidltd  fur 
wine,  and,  the  rain  continuing,  soon 
drank  himself  into  a  lialf-stupiil  con- 
dition, and  do7.('d  with  his  head  on 
his  hands  and  his  hands  u))on  the 
tnlile. 

Ill  course  of  time  tlie  riKnn  U-iinn  to 
fill,  and  the  noise  of  the  rude  jjuests  to 
wake  him. 

Then  it  was  lie  became  cnn.scious 
of  two  fi;jiin's  near  him,  eonxcrsinfj  in 
A  low  voice. 

One  was  a  pardoner.  The  other  by 
his  dress,  clean  but  modest,  ini;:lit 
have  p.is.stil  for  a  decent  tratle.-maii  ; 
h\\t  the  way  he  had  slouched  his  hat 
over  his  brows  so  ns  to  hiile  all  his 
face  except  his  beard  showed  he  was 
one  of  those  who  shun  the  eye  of  hon- 
est men,  and  of  the  law.  The  pair 
were  drivini;  a  barj,'ain  in  the  sin  mar- 
ket. And,  by  an  arraii;;ement  not 
uncommon  at  that  date,  the-  crime  to 
be  for;;iven  was  yet  to  be  committed, 
—  under  the  celestial  contract. 

He  of  the  slouched  hat  was  com- 
plainintr  of  the  price  pardons  had 
reached.  "  If  they  po  up  any  lii^rber, 
we  poor  fellows  shall  be  shut  out  of 
heaven  altogether." 

The  pardoner  denied  the  charge 
flatly.  "  Indulgences  were  never 
cheaper  to  good  husbandmen." 

The  other  inquired,  "  Who  were 
they  ^  " 

'•  Why,  such  as  sin  by  the  market, 
like  reasonable  creatures.  But  if  you 
will  be  so  perverse  as  go  and  pick  out 


ft  crime  the  jh>im'  hath  (wt  hi-^  (wet 
a;;Hin»t,  blame  yourself,  not  me." 

Then,  to  prove  that  crime  of  one 
sort  or  another  was  within  the  means 
of  all  liut  the  very  seum  of  society,  he 
read  out  the  scale  from  a  written 
parchment. 

It  was  a  curious  list :  but  not  one 
that  <ould  Iw  jirintcd  in  tbi>  l>ook 
And  to  mutilate  it  woubl  be  to  mi.* 
represent  it.  It  is  to  lie  foun<l  in  any 
great  library.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that 
murder  of  a  layman  was  much  clieaf*- 
er  than  many  crimes  my  lay  readers 
could  (lit-ni  light  by  comparison. 

This  told;  and,  by  a  little  trifling 
concession  on  each  side,  the  bargain 
wa.s  closed,  the  monev  handed  over, 
and  the  aspirant  to  Heaven's  favor 
forgiven  Iwforehiinil  for  removing  a 
layman.  The  ]»rice  for  dis|>osing  of  a 
clerk  lH)re  no  projMirtion. 

The  woril  "  assassiiiiifion  "  was  nev- 
er once  uttered  by  cither  merchant. 

All  this  buzzed  in  Gerard's  ear. 
But  he  never  lifteil  his  head  from  the 
tjible  ;  only  listened  stupidly. 

However,  when  the  parties  rose  and 
.s«parated,  he  half  raised  his  hca<l  and 
eyed  with  a  scowl  the  retiring  figure 
of  the  jiurclmser. 

"If  Margaret  was  alive,"  muttered 
he,  "  I  'd  take  thee  by  the  throat  and 
throttle  thee,  thou  cowardly  slabber. 
But  she  is  dead,  dead,  deail.  Die  all 
the  world  ;  't  is  naught  to  me  :  so 
that    I   die  iftnoni;    the   first." 

When  begot  home  there  wn.";a  man 
in  a  slouched  hat  walking  briskly  to 
and  fro  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
way. 

'•  Why,  there  is  that  cur  ai:ain," 
thoughtVjerard. 

But  in  his  state  of  mind  the  cir- 
cumstance made  no  impression  what- 
ever on  him. 


CHAPTER   LXVI. 

Two  nights  after  this,  Pieiro  Va- 
nucci  and  Andrea  sat  waiting  suppcf 
for  Gerard. 

The  former  grew  peevish.     It  was 


thp:  cloister  and  the  hearth. 


313 


past  nine  o'clock.  At  last  he  sent 
Andrea  to  Gerard's  room  on  the  des- 
perate chance  of  his  having  come  in 
unobserved.  Andrea  shrugged  his 
shoulders  and  went. 

He  returned  without  Gerard,  but 
with  a  slip  of  paper.  Andrea  coidd 
not  read,  as  scholars  in  his  day  and 
charity  boys  in  ours  understand  the 
art ;  but  he  had  a  quick  eye,  and  had 
learned  how  the  words  Pietro  Vanuc- 
ci  looked  on  paper. 

"  That  is  for  you,  I  trow,"  said  he, 
proud  of  his  intelligence. 

Piefro  snatched  it,  and  read  it  to 
Andrea,  with  his  satirical  comments. 

"  '  Dear  Pietro,  dear  Andrea,  life  is 
too  great  a  burden.' 

"  So  't  is,  my  lad :  hut  that  is  no  rea- 
son for  being  abroad  at  supper-time. 
Supper  is  not  a  burden. 

"  '  Wear  my  habits  ! ' 

"  Said  the  poplar  to  the  juniper-bush. 

" '  And  thou,  Andrea,  mine  ame- 
thyst ring ;  and  me  in  both  your 
hearts,  a  month  or  two.' 

"  Why,  Andrea? 

"  '  For  my  body,  ere  this  ye  read, 
it  will  lie  in  Tiber.  Trouble  not 
to  look  for  it.  'T  is  not  worth  the 
pains.  0  unhappy  day  that  it  was 
born  ;  0  happy  night  that  rids  me  of 
it. 

"  '  Adieu  !  adieu  ! 
"  '  The  broken-hearted  Gerard.' " 

"  Here  is  a  sorry  jest  of  the  peevish 
rogue,"  said  Pietro.  But  his  pale 
cheek  and  chattering  teeth  belied  his 
words.  Andrea  filled  the  house  with 
his  cries. 

"  0  miserable  day !  0  calamity 
of  calamities,  Gerard,  my  friend,  my 
sweet  patron  !  Help,  help  !  He  is 
killing  himself !  0  good  people,  help 
me  save  him  !  "  And  after  alarming 
all  the  house  he  ran  into  the  street, 
bareheaded,  imploring  all  good  Chris- 
tians to  help  him  save  his  friend. 

A  number  of  pei-sons  soon  col- 
lected. 

But  poor  Andrea  could  not  animate 
their  sluggishness.  Go  down  to  the 
river  1    No.     It  was  not  their  busi- 


ness.    What   part  of  the  river  1     It 
was  a  wild-goose  chase. 

It  was  not  lucky  to  go  down  to  the 
river  after  sunset.  Too  many  ghosts 
walked  those  banks  all  night. 

A  lackey,  however,  who  had  been 
standing  some  time  opposite  the  house, 
said  he  would  go  with  Andrea ;  and 
this  turned  three  or  four  of  the  young- 
er ones. 

The  little  band  took  the  way  to  the 
river. 

The  lackey  questioned  Andrea. 

Andrea,  sobbing,  told  him  about 
the  letter,  and  Gerard's  moody  ways 
of  late. 

The  lackey  was  a  spy  of  the 
Princess  Chclia. 

Their  Italian  tongues  went  fast  till 
they  neared  the  Tiber. 

But  the  moment  they  felt  the  air 
from  the  river,  and  the  smell  of  the 
stream  in  the  calm  spring  night,  they 
were  dead  silent. 

The  moon  shone  calm  and  clear  in 
a  cloudless  sky.  Their  feet  sounded 
loud  and  ominous.  Their  tongues 
were  hushed. 

Presently  hurrying  round  a  corner 
they  met  a  man.  He  stopped  irreso- 
lute at  sight  of  them. 

The  man  was  bareheaded,  and  his 
dripping  hair  glistened  in  the  moon- 
light :  and  at  the  next  step  they  saw 
his  clothes  were  drenched  with  water. 

"  Here  he  is,"  cried  one  of  the 
young  men,  unacquainted  with  Ge- 
rard's face  and  figure. 

The  stranger  turned  instantly  and 
fled. 

They  ran  after  him  might  and 
main,  Andrea  leading,  and  the  prin- 
cess's lackey  next. 

Andrea  gained  on  him  ;  but  in  a 
moment  he  twisted  up  a  naiTow  alley, 
Andrea  shot  by,  unable  to  check  him- 
self; and  the  pursuers  soon  found 
themselves  in  a  labyrinth  in  which  it 
was  vain  to  pursue  a  quick-footed  fu- 
gitive who  knew  every  inch  of  it,  and 
could  now  only  be  followed  by  the 
ear. 

They  returned  to  their  companions, 
and  found  them  standing  on  the  spot 


ai4 


THE  CLOISTKR   AND  THK   HKAIITH. 


where  the  nmii  had  stixxl,  nnil  utterly 
coiifouii'li-d.  For  I'iciru  had  nssun-d 
thcin  llint  the  rii>:iti\--  had  iK-itlur  the 
features  nor  the  .stature  of  (ieranl. 

"  Are  ye  verily  sure  '  "  ^aid  thev. 
"  He  had  been  in  the  river.  Why,  in 
the  .suint.s'  nanieM,  fled  he  ut  our  a|>- 
[ironch  i 

I'heii  said  Vanueci  :  "  Frii-ndx.  ine- 
thiiiks  thi-  ha>  naught  to  do  with  him 
we  .s)-<'k.  What  .shiill  we  tlo,  An- 
dna  '  " 

Here  the  la(  key  j)ut  in  hi*  wonl. 
"  Ixt  us  trark  hint  to  the  water's 
8ide,  to  make  sure.  See,  he  hath 
eoini-  dripjtin;;  nil  tlie  way." 

This  adviix'  wii-s  npiinivcd,  and  with 
very  little  dithculty  tliey  trueki-il  the 
man's  eourse. 

Hut  .soon  they  cneountenil  n  new 
eni;:nia. 

Thty  had  pone  scnrn-ly  fifty  yiirils 
ere  the  ilrops  tumr«l  ii«iiy  from  the 
riMT,  ami  took  tlu-m  to  the  ^atc  of  n 
lar^'e  jjloomy  buiidin);.  It  was  » 
mona-itery. 

'I'liey  stWMl  irn'.solute  U-fore  it.  and 
pizi'd  at  the  ilark  ]iilf  It  fteemni  to 
tlirni  to  hiile  some  horrihie  inysti-r}'. 

Milt  prrsently  ATuin-a  pave  u  shout. 
"  Here  U"  the  drops  u;,'ain,"  eried  he. 
"And  this  road  leadeth  to  the  river." 

They  n'sumed  the  eha.se;  and  Mxm 
it  Ixrame  elenr  the  drops  were  now 
K^adin;:  them  home.  'I  he  traek  hc- 
came  wetter  and  wetter,  and  took 
them  to  tlie  TiU-r's  idu'v.  And  there 
on  the  i)ank  a  hueketfiil  apfnared  to 
liave  lieen  di.sehanie«l  from  the  stnain. 

At  first  they  sliouted,  and  thou(;hl 
they  had  made  a  di.seovi-ry  ;  hut  re- 
fleetion  showed  tliem  it  nmounteti  to 
nothini:.  Certainly  a  man  had  Inrn 
in  the  water,  and  had  ;;ot  out  of  it  in 
fiafety  ;  hut  tliiit  nuui  w;ui  not  Cierard. 
Une  said  he  knew  a  tishennan  hard 
by,  that  had  nets  and  dm;,'S.  Thev 
found  the  fisher,  and  paid  him  lilicml- 
ly  to  sink  nets  in  the  river  l>elow  the 
plaee,  and  to  draji  it  above  and  l)elow  ; 
anil  promised  liim  gold  should  he 
find  the  body.  Then  they  ran  vainly 
up  and  down  the  river,  which  flowed 
so  calm  uud  voiceless,   holding   this 


and  a  thou.tand  more  utranf^e 
Suddenly  Andrea,  with  n  rry  uf  Itop^ 
ran  luiek  to  the  liousi-. 

llu  retunicil  in  Ic9.s  than  lialf  an 
hour. 

"  No,"  he  proanetl,  nml  wrung  hlA 
hands. 

"What  i«  the  hour?"  a-skM  ihc 
luekcv. 

"  tour  hours  |)a.«t  midnitrht." 

"  My  pretty  lad,"  Kuid  the  lackey, 
itoli-mnly.  "  nay  n  mn.vs  for  thy  friend's 
itoui  :  lor  ho  is  not  among  living 
men." 

The  n>oniinjj  broke.  Worn  ont 
with  futitrue,  Andrea  and  Tietm  went 
home,  lieart-siek. 

The  dayx  rolled  on,  mute  u  Um 
Tiber  us  to  Cierard's  fate. 


CHAl'TKIi  I.XVII. 

It  would  indi-r«|  have  Uvn  otranf^ 
if.  with  sm  h  barn-n  ilata  a.t  they  |mj#- 
sesMMJ,  ihoso  men  eould  havr  n-ad  iho 
handwritin;:  oti  the  river's  Utnk. 

For  thrn-  on  that  !^\t*>x  nn  event 
had  just  o«-eiirre<l.  whieh,  take  it  al- 
to;.i'fher.  wits  |ierhaps  without  a  [»iir- 
allel  in  the  history  of  nuinkind,  and 
mav  remain  .«o  to  the  i-nd  of  tune. 

iiut  it  .shall  lie  told  in  a  wry  few 
words,  partly  by  me,  |»artly  by  an 
aetor  in  the  .«n-ne. 

(rerurd,  then,  after  writinp  his  brief 
adieu  to  I'ietro  and  Andn-a.  had  sto- 
len down  to  the  river  nt  ni;;btfall. 

He  had  taken  his  measures  with  m 
do;;mi!  r\'s<dution  not  unomimon  in 
those  who  arc  Iwni  on  9elf-<le.st ruction. 
He  filled  his  jxKket.s  with  all  the  sil- 
ver  and  <-opjHT  he  po-.,s<.>s.s«d,  that  he 
mi^;ht  .sink  the  surer  ;  and,  so  j)rovid- 
ed,  hurrietl  to  a  part  of  the  stream 
that  he  had  seen  wb.s  little  frcrjuented. 

There  are  some,  es|>«cially  women, 
who  look  alK>ut  to  make  sure  there  i» 
somelKHly  at  hand. 

But  this  nsolute  wreteh  looked 
alM.>ut  him  to  make  sure  there  was  no- 
body. 

And,  to  liis  annoyoncG,  he  observed 


THE  CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


31& 


a  single  figure  leaning  against  the 
corner  of  an  alley.  So  he  affected  to 
stroll  carelessly  away;  but  returned 
to  the  spot. 

Lo  !  the  same  figure  emerged  from 
a  side  street  and  loitered  about. 

"  Can  he  be  watching  me  ?  Can  he 
know  what  I  am  here  for  1  "  thought 
Gerard.     "  Impossible." 

He  went  briskly  off,  walked  along 
a  street  or  two,  made  a  detour, 
and  came  back. 

The  man  had  vanished.  But,  lo  ! 
on  Gerard  looking  all  round,  to  make 
sure,  there  he  was  a  few  yards  behind, 
apparently  fastening  his  shoe. 

Gerard  saw  he  was  watched,  and  at 
this  moment  observed  in  the  moon- 
light a  steel  gauntlet  in  his  sentinel's 
hand. 

Then  he  knew  it  was  an  assas- 
sin. 

Strange  to  say,  it  never  occurred  to 
him  that  his  was  the  life  aimed  at. 
To  be  sure  he  was  not  aware  he  had 
an  enemy  in  the  world. 

He  turned  and  walked  up  to  the 
bravo.  "  My  good  friend,"  said  he, 
eagerly,  "  sell  me  thine  arm  !  a  sin- 
gle stroke  !  See,  here  is  all  I  have  " ; 
and  he  forced  his  money  into  the 
bravo's  hands.  "  0  prithee  !  prithee  ! 
do  one  good  deed  and  rid  me  of  my 
hateful  life !  "  and  even  while  speaking 
he  undid  his  doublet  and  bared  his 
bosom. 

The  man  stared  him  in  the  face. 

"  Why  do  ye  hesitate  ?  "  shrieked 
Gerard.  "  Have  ye  no  bowels  ?  Is 
it  so  much  pains  to  lift  your  arm 
and  fall  it  ?  Is  it  because  1  am  poor 
and  can't  give  ye  gold  1  Useless 
wretch,  canst  only  strike  a  man  be- 
hind ;  not  look  one  in  the  face  f  There 
then,  do  but  turn  thy  head  and  hold 
thy  tongue  !  " 

And  with  a  snarl  of  contempt  he 
ran  from  him  and  flung  himself  into 
the  water. 

"  Margaret ! " 

At  the  heavy  plunge  of  his  body  in 
the  stream  the  bravo  seemed  to  re- 
cover from  a  stupor.  He  ran  to  the 
bank  and  with    a    strange  cry   the 


assassin  plunged  in  after  the  self-dd 
stroyer. 

What  followed  will  be  related  by 
the  assassin. 


CHAPTER    LXVIII. 

A  woMAX  has  her  own  troubles  as 
a  man  has  his. 

And  we  male  writers  seldom  do 
more  than  indicate  the  griefs  of  the 
other  sex.  The  intelligence  of  the 
female  reader  must  come  to  our  aid, 
and  fill  up  our  cold  outlines.  So  ] 
have  indicated,  rather  than  described, 
what  Margaret  Brandt  went  through 
up  to  that  eventful  day,  when  she  en- 
tered Eli's  house  an  enemy,  read  her 
sweetheart's  letter,  and  remained  a 
friend. 

And  now  a  woman's  greatest  trial 
drew  near,  and  Gerard  far  away. 

She  availed  herself  but  little  of  Eli's 
sudden  favor :  for  this  reserve  she  had 
always  a  plausible  reason  ready  ;  and 
never  hinted  at  the  true  one,  which 
was  this  ;  there  were  two  men  in  that 
house  at  sight  of  whom  she  shuddered 
with  instinctive  antipathy  and  dread. 
She  had  read  wickedness  and  hatred 
in  their  faces,  and  mysterious  signals 
of  secret  intelligence.  She  preferred 
to  receive  Catherine  and  her  daugh- 
ter at  home.  The  former  went  to  see 
her  every  dav,  and  was  wrapped  up 
in  the  expected  event. 

Catherine  was  one  of  those  females 
whose  office  is  to  multiply,  and  rear 
the  multiplied :  who,  when  at  last 
they  consent  to  leave  off  pelting  one 
out  of  every  room  in  the  house  with 
babies,  hover  about  the  fair  scourges 
that  are  still  in  full  swing,  and  do  so 
cluck,  they  seem  to  multiply  by  proxy. 
It  was  in  this  spirit  she  entreated  Eli 
to  let  her  stay  at  Rotterdam  while  he 
went  back  to  Tergou. 

"  The  poor  lass  hath  not  a  souj 
about  her,  that  knows  anything  about 
anything.  What  avail  a  pair  o'  sol- 
diers ?       Why,   that  sort   o'    cattle 


316 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


should  be  puttcn  out  o'  doors  tlic  first 
at  such  an  a  time." 

Need  I  say  tliat  tliis  was  a  f,'rcat 
comfort  to  Marj^aret  f 

Poor  soul,  slie  was  full  of  anxietj  as 
the  time  drew  near. 

She  should  die  :  and  Gerard 
away. 

But  things  balance  themselves.  Ilcr 
poverty,  and  her  father's  helplessness, 
which  had  cost  her  such  a  struggle, 
stood  her  in  good  stead  now. 

Adversity's  iron  hand  had  forced 
her  to  battle  the  hvssitude  that  over- 
powers the  rich  of  her  sex,  and  to  la- 
forever  on  her  feet,  working.  She 
kept  this  up  to  the  last  by  Catherine's 
advice. 

And  so  it  was  that  one  fine  evening 
just  at  sunset  siie  lay  weak  as  water, 
but  safe  ;  with  a  little  face  by  her 
side,  and  the  heaven  of  maternity 
opening  on  her. 

"  Why  dost  weep,  sweetheart  ?  All 
of  a  sudden  .'  " 

"  He  is  not  here  to  see  it." 

"  Ah,  well,  lass,  he  will  be  here  ere 
'tis  weaned.  Meantime,  God  hatli 
been  as  good  to  thee  as  to  e'er  a  wo- 
man born  :  and  do  but  bethink  thee 
it  might  have  been  a  girl  ;  did  n't  my 
very  own  Kate  threaten  me  with  one  ? 
and  here  we  have  got  the  l)onniest  boy 
in  Holland,  and  a  rare  heavy  one,  the 
saints  be  praised  fur't." 

"  Ay,  mother,  I  am  l)ut  a  sorry  un- 
grateful wretch  to  weep.  If  only 
Gerard  were  here  to  see  it.  'T  is 
strange ;  I  bore  him  well  enow  to  be  ; 
away  from  mc  in  my  sorrow;  but  O, 
it  doth  seem  so  hard  he  should  not 
share  my  joy.  Prithee,  prithee,  come 
to  me,  Gerard  !  dear,  dear  Gerard  !  " 
And  she  stretched  out  her  feeble  arms. 

Catherine  bustled  about,  but  avoid- 
ed Margaret's  eyes  :  for  she  could  not 
restrain  her  own  tears  at  hearing  her 
own  absent  child  thus  earnestly  ad- 
dressed. 

Presently  turning  round,  she  found 
Margaret  looking  at  her  with  a  singu- 
lar expression.  "  Heard  you  naught  1 " 

"  No,  my  lamb.     What  ?  " 


"  I  did  cry  on  Gerard,  but  now." 
"  Ay,  ay,  sure  1  heard  that." 
"  Well,  he  answered  me." 
"  Tush,  gill ;  say  not  that." 
"  Mother,  as  sure  as  I  lie  here,  with 
his  boy  by  mv  side,  his   voice  came 
back  to  me,  '  ^larguret  ! '     So.     Yet 
nietiiou;,'ht  't  was  not  his  hajijiy  voice. 
Hut  tliat  might  be  the  distance.     All 
vcjiees  go  otf  satl-like  at   a  distance. 
Why  art  not  happy,  sweetheart?  and 
I  so  happy  this   night?     Mother,   I 
seem  never   to   have   felt  a  pain   or 
known  a  care."     And  her  sweet  eyes 
tiinii  il  and  gloated  on  the  little  face 
in  silence. 

That  very  night  Gerard  flung  him- 
self into  the  Tiln-r.  Anil,  that  very 
hour  she  heard  him  speak  her  name, 
he  cried  aloud  in  death's  jaws  and 
des|)air's,  — 

"  Margaret !  " 

Account  for  it  those  who  can.  I 
cannot. 


CHAPTER  LXIX. 

In  the  guest-chamber  of  a  Domin- 
ican convent  lay  a  single  .stranger, 
exhausted  by  successive  and  violent 
fits  of  nausea,  which  hail  at  last  sub- 
sided, leaving  him  almost  as  weak  as 
Margaret  lay  that  night  in  Holland. 

A  huge  wood-fire  burned  on  the 
hearth,  and  beside  it  liung  the  pa- 
tient's clothes. 

A  gigantic  friar  sat  by  his  bedside 
reading  pious  collects  aloud  from  his 
breviary. 

The  patient  at  times  eyed  him,  and 
seemed  to  listen  ;  at  others  closed  his 
eyes  and  moaned. 

The  monk  kneeled  down  with  his 
face  touching  the  ground,  and  prayed 
for  him  ;  then  rose  and  bade  him  fare- 
well. "  Day  breaks,"  said  he,  "  I 
must  prepare  for  matins." 

"  Good  Father  Jerome,  before  you 
go,  how  came  I  hither  '.  " 

"  By  the  hand  of  Heaven.  You 
flung  away  God's  gift.  He  bestowed 
it  on  you  again.     Think  on  it !    Hast 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


317 


tried  the  world  and  found  its  gall. 
Now  try  the  Church  !  The  Church  is 
peace.     Pax  vobiscum." 

He  was  gone.  Gerard  lay  back, 
meditating  and  wondering,  till  weak 
and  wearied  he  fell  into  a  doze. 

When  he  awoke  again  he  found  a 
new  nurse  seated  beside  him.  It  was 
a  layman,  with  an  eye  as  small  and 
restless  as  Friar  Jerome's  was  calm 
and  majestic. 

The  man  inquired  earnestly  how 
he  felt. 

"  Very,  very  weak.  Where  have 
I  seen  you  before,  Messcr  ?  " 

"  None  the  worse  for  my  gaunt- 
let ?  "  inquired  the  other,  M'ith  con- 
siderable anxiety ;  "  I  was  fain  to 
strike  you  withal,  or  both  you  and 
I  should  be  at  the  bottom  of  Tiber." 

Gerard  stared  at  him.  "  What, 
't  was  you  saved  me  ^    How  1  " 

"  Well,  signor,  I  was  by  the  banks 
of  Tiber  on  —  on  —  an  errand,  no 
matter  what.  You  came  to  me  and 
begged  hard  for  a  dagger  stroke. 
But  ere  I  could  oblige  you,  ay,  even 
as  you  spoke  to  me,  I  knew  you  for 
the  signor  that  saved  my  wife  and 
child  upon  the  sea." 

"  It  is  Teresa's  husband.  And  an 
assassin  ?  !  !  1  " 

"  At  your  service.  Well,  Ser 
Gerard,  the  next  thing  was,  you  flung 
yourself  into  Tiber,  and  bade  me  hold 
aloof." 

"  I  remember  that." 

"  Had  it  been  any  but  you,  believe 
me  I  had  obeyed  you,  and  not  wagged 
a  linger.  Men  are  my  foes.  They 
may  all  hang  on  one  rope,  or  drown 
in  one  river  for  me.  But  when  thou, 
sinking  in  Tiber,  didst  cry  'Mar- 
garet ! ' " 

"Ah!" 

"  My  heart  it  cried  '  Teresa  !  ' 
How  could  I  go  home  and  look  her 
in  the  face,  did  I  let  thee  die,  and  by 
the  very  death  thou  savedst  her 
from  ?  So  in  I  went ;  and  luckily 
for  us  both  I  swim  like  a  duck.  You, 
seeing  me  near,  and  being  bent  on 
destruction,  tried  to  grip  me,  and  so 
end  us   both.      But   I   swam   round 


thee,  and  (receive  my  excuses)  so 
buffeted  thee  on  the  nape  of  the  neck 
with  my  steel  glove,  that  thou  lost 
sense,  and  I  with  much  ado,  the 
stream  being  strong,  did  draw  thy 
body  to  land,  but  insensible  and  fiill 
of  water.  Then  I  took  thee  on  my 
back  and  made  for  my  own  home. 
'  Teresa  will  nurse  him,  and  be 
pleased  with  me,'  thought  I.  But, 
hard  by  this  monastery,  a  holy  friar, 
the  biggest  e'er  I  saw,  met  us  and 
asked  the  matter.  So  I  told  him. 
He  looked  hard  at  thee.  '  I  know 
the  face,'  quoth  he.  '  'T  is  one  Gerard, 
a  fair  youth  from  Holland.'  '  The 
same,'  quo'  I.  Then  said  his  rev- 
erence, '  He  hath  friends  among  our 
brethren.  Leave  him  with  us  !  Char- 
ity, it  is  our  office.'  " 

"  Also  he  told  me  they  of  the  con- 
vent had  better  means  to  tend  thee 
than  I  had.  And  that  was  true 
enow.  So  I  just  bargained  to  be  let 
in  to  see  thee  once  a  day,  and  here 
thou  art." 

And  the  miscreant  cast  a  strange 
look  of  affection  and  interest  upon 
Gerard. 

Gerard  did  not  respond  to  it.  He 
felt  as  if  a  snake  were  in  the  room. 
He  closed  his  eyes. 

"  Ah,  thou  wouldst  sleep,"  said 
the  miscreant,  eagerly.  "  I  go." 
And  he  retired  on  tiptoe,  with  a 
promise  to  come  every  day. 

Gerard  lay  with  his  eyes  closed ; 
not  asleep,  but  deeply  pondering. 

Saved  fi'om  death  by  an  assassin  ! 

Was  not  this  the  finger  of  Heaven  1 

Of  that  Heaven  he  had  insulted, 
cursed,  and  defied. 

He  shuddered  at  his  blasphemies. 
He  tried  to  pray. 

He  found  he  could  utter  prayers. 
But  he  could  not  pray. 

"I  am  doomed  eternally,"  he  cried, 
"  doomed,  doomed." 

The  organ  of  the  convent  church 
burst  on  his  ear  in  rich  and  solemn 
harmony. 

Then  rose  the  voices  of  the  choir 
chanting  a  full  service. 

Among  them  was  one  that  seemed 


318 


TIIK    fl.oISTKi:    AND    1111".    IH.AKTIL 


to  hover  al)Ovc  the  othirn,  ami  tower 
towards  Heaven  ;  ii  sweet  Ihiv's  voiec, 
full,  pure,  anjrelie. 

lie  elosed  liis  eyes  and  lisU-nwl. 
The  days  oJ"  his  own  hoyhiH)d  tlowe<l 
h;uk  upon  him  in  those  swt<t,  jiioiis 
liarinonies.  No  eartlily  druss  there, 
no  (bill,  ficrec  j)assions,  reiuUnj^  and 
eorruptin;^  the  soul. 

I'eace  ;   f)eucc  ;  sweet,  l>alniy  i)onee. 

"  Ay,"  he  sightnl,  "  the  (Miiireh  is 

feaee  of  mind.  Till  I  left  her  bosom 
ne'er  knew  sorrow  nor  sin." 

And  the  iK)or,  torn,  worn,  creature 
wej)!. 

And,  even  ns  he  wept,  there  U-amed 
on  him  the  sweet  and  n-ven-nd  faee 
of  one  he  had  never  thought  to  s<.'e 
apain.  It  was  the  faee  of  Father 
Anselm. 

The  pcMxl  father  had  only  rcaehcd 
the  eonviiit  the  ux^Ul  More  last. 
Gerard  reeoj.'ni/id  him  in  a  moment, 
and  cried  to  him :  "  t)  Father  An- 
selm, you  cured  my  wounded  Innly 
in  .luliers  ;  now  cure  my  hurt  .soul  in 
Home!     Alas,  you  cannot." 

Anselm  sat  downi  hy  the  l>cdside, 
and,  putting  a  (gentle  hand  on  his 
head,  lirst  calmed  him  with  a  soothing 
word  or  two. 

lie  then  (for  he  had  learned  how 
Gerard  came  there)  spoke  to  him 
kindly  hut  solemnly,  and  made  liim 
feel  his  crime,  and  ur^ed  him  to  re- 
pentance, and  jrratitudo  to  that  Di- 
vine Power  which  had  thwarte<l  his 
will  to  save  his  soul. 

"  t\)me,  my  son,"  said  he,  "  first 
purge  thy  hosom  of  its  load." 

"  Ah,  father,"  said  Gcranl,  "  in 
Juliers  I  could  ;  then  I  was  innocent ; 
but  now,  impious  monster  that  I  am, 
I  dare  !iot  confess  to  you." 

"  Why  not,  my  son  ?  Thinkcst 
thou  I  have  not  sinned  against 
Heaven  in  my  time,  and  deeply'?  O 
how  deeply  !  Come,  poor  laden  soul, 
pour  forth  thy  grief,  pour  forth  thy 
iault,  hold  back  naught  !  Lie  not 
oppressed  and  crushed  by  hidden 
Bins." 

And  soon  Gerard  was  at  Father 
Anselm's  knees  confessing  his  every 


sin  with  sighs  and  groans  of  pent 
ten  CO. 

"  Thy  sins  arc  great,  "."sjiid  Ansclni. 
"  Thy  temptation  also  \vas  great,  tcr- 
riiily  gnat.  I  must  con-ult  our  gotnl 
jirior." 

'J'he  g<Kxl  Anselm  ki>««cd  his  hiow, 
and  left  him,  to  consult  tlic  8U|KTior 
as  to  his  jtonancc. 

An«l,  lo!  Gerard  could  i»rny  now. 

And  he  prayed  with  all  liis  heart. 

The  iihasc  through  whi«h  this  re- 
markahle  mind  now  passed  nuiy  bo 
summed  in  a  word,  —  renitcnec. 

He  turned  with  tt-rror  and  aversion 
from  the  world,  and  U-ggi-il  passion- 
ately to  remain  in  the  convent.  To 
him,  convent-nurtured,  it  was  like  a 
bird  returning,  wovmded,  wearied,  to 
its  gentle  nest. 

He  passed  his  novitiate  in  j»raytr, 
aixl  mortitication,  and  pioi:»  reading, 
and  meditation. 

The  I'rincess  Cltrlin'o  sjiy  went 
home  and  told  her  thnt  Gerard  waa 
certainly  ilead,  the  manner  of  hi.-!  death 
unknown  at  jireseiit. 

She  si-eined  literally  stunned. 
When,  after  a  long  time,  »he  found 
breath  to  s|>eak  at  all,  it  was  to  be- 
moan her  lot,  cursed  with  such  ready 
!  tools.     "  So  soon,"  she  sighed  ;  "  seo 
I  how  swift  these  monsters  are  to  do  ill 
!  deeds.     Thev  come  to  us  in   our  hot 
1  bliK)d,  and  hrst  femj»t  us  with  their 
venal  daggers,  tlien  enact  the  mortal 
deeds  we  ne'er  had  thought  on  but  for 
them." 

Ere  many   hours  had  passed,  her 
'  pity  for  (ierard  and  hatred  of  his  mur- 
derer had  risen  to  fever  heat ;  which 
with  this  f(M)l  was  blfMxl  heat. 

"  I'oor  soul  !  I  cannot  call  theo 
back  to  life.  But  he  shall  never  liv« 
that  traitorously  slew  theo." 

And  she  jmt  armed  men  in  ambush, 
and  ke{)t  them  on  guanl  all  day,  ready, 
when  Lodovico  should  come  for  his 
money,  to  fall  <m  him  in  a  certain  an- 
techaml>cr  and  hack  him  to  pieces. 

"  Strike  at  his  head,"  said  she,  "  for 
he  wcareth  a  privy  coat  of  mail ;  and 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


319 


if  he  pocs  hence  alive  your  own  heads 
shall  answer  it." 

And  so  she  sat  weeping  her  victim, 
and  ])ulling  the  strings  of  machines 
to  shed  the  blood  of  a  second  for  hav- 
ing been  her  machine  to  kill  the 
first. 


CHAPTER  LXX. 

One  of  the  novice  Gerard's  self- 
imposed  penances  was  to  receive  Lo- 
dovico  kindly,  feeling  secretly  as  to  a 
slimy  serpent. 

Never  was  self-denial  better  be- 
stowed ;  and,  like  most  rational  pen- 
ances, it  soon  became  no  penance  at 
all.  At  first  the  pride  and  compla- 
cency-with  which  the  assassin  gazed 
on  the  one  life  he  had  saved  was 
perhaps  as  ludicrous  as  pathetic  ;  but 
it  is  a  great  thing  to  open  a  good 
door  in  a  heart.  One  good  thing 
follows  another  through  the  aperture. 
Finding  it  so  sweet  to  save  life,  the 
miscreant  went  on  to  be  averse  to 
taking  it ;  and  from  that  to  remorse ; 
and  from  remorse  to  something  very 
like  penitence.  And  here  Teresa  co- 
operated by  threatening,  not  for  the 
first  time,  to  leave  him  unless  he 
would  consent  to  lead  an  honest  life. 
The  good  fathers  of  the  convent  lent 
their  aid,  and  Lodovico  and  Teresa 
were  sent  by  sea  to  Leghorn,  where 
Teresa  had  friends,  and  the  assassin 
settled  down  and  became  a  porter. 

He  found  it  miserably  dull  work  at 
first,  and  said  so. 

But  methinks  this  dull  life  of  plod- 
ding labor  was  better  for  him  than 
the  brief  excitement  of  being  hewn  in 
pieces  by  the  Princess  Clcelia's  myr- 
midons. His  exile  saved  the  uncon- 
scious penitent  from  that  fate ;  and 
the  princess,  balked  of  her  revenge, 
took  to  brooding,  and  fell  into  a  pro- 
found melancholy ;  dismissed  her  con- 
fessor, and  took  a  new  one  with  a 
great  reputation  for  piety,  to  whom 
she  confided  what  she  called  her  griefs. 
The  new  confessor  was  no  other  than 
U* 


Fra  Jerome.  She  could  not  have 
fallen  into  better  hands. 

He  heard  her  grimly  out.  Then 
took  her  and  shook  the  delusions  out 
of  her  as  roughly  as  if  she  had  been  a 
kitchen-maid.  For,  to  do  this  hard 
monk  justice,  on  the  path  of  duty  he 
feared  the  anger  of  princes  as  lit- 
tle as  he  did  the  sea.  He  showed  her 
in  a  few  words,  all  thunder  and  light- 
ning, that  she  was  the  criminal  of 
criminals. 

"  Thou  art  the  Devil,  that  with  th.r 
money  hath  tempted  one  man  to  slay 
his  fellow,  and  then,  blinded  with  self- 
love,  instead  of  blaming  and  punish' 
ing  thyself,  art  thirsting  for  more 
blood  of  guilty  men,  but  not  so  guilty 
as  thou." 

At  first  she  resisted,  and  told  him 
she  was  not  used  to  be  taken  to  task 
by  her  confessors.  But  he  overpow- 
ered her,  and  so  threatened  her  with 
the  Church's  curse  here  and  hereafter, 
and  so  tore  the  scales  off  her  eyes, 
and  thundered  at  her,  and  crushed 
her,  that  she  sank  down  and  grovelled 
with  remorse  and  terror  at  the  feet  of 
the  gigantic  Boanerges. 

"  O  holy  father,  have  pity  on  a 
poor  weak  woman,  and  help  me 
save  my  guilty  soul.  I  was  benighted 
for  want  of  ghostly  counsel  like  thine, 
good  father.  I  waken  as  from  a 
dream." 

"  DofF  thy  jewels,"  said  Fra  Jerome, 
sternly. 

"  I  will.     I  will." 

"  Doff  thy  silk  and  velvet ;  and,  in 
humbler  garb  than  wears  thy  mean- 
est servant,  wend  thou  instant  to  Lo- 
retto." 

"  I  will,"  said  the  princess,  faintly. 

"  No  shoes  :  but  a  bare  sandal." 

"  No,  father." 

"  Wash  the  feet  of  pilgrims  both 
going  and  coming ;  and  to  such  of 
them  as  be  holy  friars  tell  thy  sin,  and 
abide  their  admonition." 

"  O  holy  father,  let  me  wear  my 
mask." 

"  Humph !  " 

"  O  mercy  !  Bethink  ye  !  My  fea 
tures  are  known  through  Italy. 


320 


TlIK   CLOISTER    AN1>   TIIK    UKAIJTH. 


"  Ay.  Bcnnty  is  a  curse  to  most 
of  ye.  Well,  thou  imiyst  nin.sk  thine 
eve;* ;  no  more." 

"Oii  thi.s  c-onces.sion  she  seized  hi* 
haiui,  mill  wns  nliout  to  ki.vs  it ;  but 
lie  siiaiihetl  it  nulely  from  her. 

"  What  woiilil  ye'ilu  '  That  hnnti 
luinilkil  the  emhiiri.>t  hut  an  hour 
ti;:oii(- :  is  it  tit  t'ur  .sueli  lU  thuu  to 
touch  it  f 

"  Ah,  no.  But  oh,  rO  not  without 
^'ivin^  your  jjenitent  duu^^htcr  your 
hlr.s.siujj." 

•■  Time  enow  to  n-tk  it  when  you 
come  haek  from  Ix>retto." 

Thus  that  manellous  mvurrenee 
hv  Titter's  hank  left  its  mark  on  all 
the  aetors,  as  jinxli^ries  are  said  to  do. 
The  a.ssassin,  softeunl  hy  saviujj  the 
life  he  was  j)aiil  to  take,  tuniwl  (nm\ 
the  stiletto  to  the  jxirter's  knot.  The 
j.riiuess  went  huntiKJt  to  lioretio, 
wivpin^  her  erime  and  wo^hin^  the 
feet  of  l)a.-e-lmru  men. 

An<l  (ieranl,  carried  from  the  Ti- 
ber into  that  convent  u  suicide,  now 
|>iv<sed  for  a  younj^  saint  within  it5 
walls. 

I>>vin>r  but  inex])criencetl  eyes  were 
on  him. 

r|K)n  n  shorter  pnthation  than  usu- 
al, he  was  admitted  to  priests'  orders. 

Aiul  soon  after  took  the  mona.'itic 
vows,  and  bivnmc  a  friar  of  St.  Domi- 
nic. 

l\vin;;  to  the  world,  the  monk 
iiarted  with  the  very  name  hy  which 
lie  liail  lived  in  it,  and  so  broke  the 
last  link  of  association  with  earthly 
feelin;;s. 

Here  Gerard  endetl,  ond  Brother 
Clement  lM?gan. 


CHAI'TER    LXXI. 

"  As  is  the  race  of  leaves,  so  is  that 
of  men."  And  a  preat  man  budded 
unnoticed  in  a  tailor's  house  at  Rot- 
terdam this  year,  and  a  lar;:c  man 
dropped  to  earth  with  preat  eclat. 

Philip,  Duke  of  Burgundy,  Earl  of 


Hollnnd,  etc.,  rtr.,  lay  nirk  at  Rrugva 
Now  pnu|>iTs  jjot  »i«k  ut»l  yot  well, 
im  Natur«  |deuM-«l,  but  wm-  bclidcd 
the  rich  in  an  a;;t>  when,  for  our  &lr. 
Malady  kdled,  three  fell  by  Dr.  Ucm- 
c»lv. 

'rh<-  duke'.i  complaint,  nanidrM 
then,  in  now  tliphtheriu.  It  is,  and 
wa.s,  a  «ery  wenkeniu);  malady,  and 
the  duke  was  tdil  :  nt,  nhoKVt\wT,  Dr. 
Kemed\  bled  him. 

The  duke  turned  verv  cold  :  woa> 
derful ! 

Then  Dr.  llenudv  had  rrrt»unic  to 
the  nrcanii  of  m  ii  nee. 

IIo  !  This  is  prnve.  Flay  mc  on 
n}K-  incontinent,  and  clap  him  to  tb* 
duke's  breast  !  " 

Orticeni  of  utate  ran,  M'pinnviouj, 
strkinp  an  a|i«  to  counteract  th* 
bloiMl-thiptty  tomfoolery  of  the  human 

s|>«fie.s. 

Terdititm  !     The  diil'   «!i« 
at*"*-     Then<  were  bur 


tit  of 

r.|«. 


'I  urk«.    b"«>panl»  :    am 
U-ast  but  the  rifht  one. 

••  Why,  there  ushiI  to  be  an  ape 
about,"  Miid  one.  "  If  1  utand  here. 
I  saw  him." 

So  there  u.stil  ;  but  the  ma.stiiT  had 
manpletl  the  spriphtly  crraturr  for 
steidinp  his  »iup|N'r,  and  m>  fultillrd 
the  human  precept,  "  Soycat  de  votro 
sitvle  !  " 

In    this   .  :  ••  hal 

ca.sl  his  tie-;  md 

not    in    vai;..     A   ...,..;,..    ..^..;  .^hot 
into  them. 

■'  Herv  is  ihiM,"  said  he,  sotto  toco. 
"  Surely  lhi.<  will  scr*c  ;  't  i.s  •!• 
together  a|)C-like,  doublet  and  hoM 
apart." 

"  Nay,"  said  the  chancellor,  pee- 
vishly, "the  Princess  Marie  would 
hanj;  us.     She  doteth  on  tfii.i." 

Now  this  was  our  friend  Giles, 
strutting,  all  uncons<MOii.s,  in  cloth  of 
gold. 

Then  Dr.  Remedy  grew  impatient, 
and  batlc  flay  a  dog. 

"A  dog  is  next  best  to  an  ape; 
only  it  mast  be  a  dog  all  of  one 
color." 

So  thcr  flayed  a  liver-colored  do£ 


THE  CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH, 


321 


and  clapped  it,  yet  palpitating,  to 
their  sovereign's  breast ;  and  he  died. 

Philip  the  Good,  thus  seientifically 
disposed  of,  left  thirty-one  children  ; 
of  whom  one,  somehow  or  another, 
was  legitimate,  and  reigned  in  his 
stead. 

The  good  duke  provided  for  nine- 
teen out  of  the  other  thirty  ;  the  rest 
shifted  for  themselves. 

According  to  the  Flemish  chroni- 
cle the  deceased  prince  was  descended 
from  the  kings  of  Troy,  through 
Thierry  of  Aquitaine,  and  Chilperic, 
Pharamond,  &c.,  the  old  kings  of 
Franconia. 

But  this  in  reality  was  no  distinc- 
tion. Not  a  prince  of  his  day  have  I 
been  able  to  discover  who  did  not 
come  down  from  Troy.  "  Priam  " 
was  mediaeval  for  "  Adam." 

The  good  duke's  body  was  carried 
into  Burgundy,  and  laid  in  a  noble 
mausoleum  of  black  marble  at  Dijon. 

Holland  rang  with  his  death,  and 
little  dreamed  that  anything  as  fa- 
mous was  born  in  her  territory  that 
year.  That  judgment  has  been  long 
reversed.  Men  gaze  at  the  tailor's 
house,  where  the  great  birth  of  the 
fifteenth  century  took  place.  In  what 
house  the  good  duke  died  "  no  one 
knows  and  no  one  cares,"  as  the  song 
says. 

And  why  ? 

Dukes  Philip  the  Good  come  and 
go,  and  leave  mankind  not  a  half- 
penny ^\■iser,  nor  better,  nor  other, 
than  they  found  it  But,  when  once 
in  three  hundred  years  such  a  child  is 
born  to  the  world  as  Margaret's  son, 
lo  !  a  human  torch,  lighted  by  fire 
from  heaven;  and  "fiat  lux"  thun- 
ders from  pole  to  pole. 


CHAPTER    LXXII. 

The  Dominicans,  or  preaching  fri- 
urs,  once  the  most  powerful  order  in 
Europe,  were  now  on  the  wane  ; 
their  rivals  and  bitter  enemies,  the 
Franciscans,  were  overpowering  them 


throughout  Europe,- -even  in  Eng- 
land, a  rich  and  religious  country, 
where,  under  the  name  of  the  Black 
Friars,  they  had  once  been  para' 
mount. 

Therefore  the  sagacious  men  who 
watched  and  directed  the  interests  of 
the  order  were  never  so  anxious  to 
incorporate  able  and  zealous  sons, 
and  send  them  forth  to  win  back  the 
world. 

The  zeal  and  accomplishments  of 
Clement,  especially  his  rare  mastery 
of  language  (for  he  spoke  Latin,  Ital- 
ian, French,  High  and  Low  Dutch) 
soon  transpired,  and  he  was  destined 
to  travel  and  jjreach  in  England,  cor- 
responding with  the  Roman  centre. 

But  Jerome,  who  had  the  superior's 
ear,  obstructed  this  design. 

"  Clement,"  said  he,  "  has  the  milk 
of  the  world  still  in  his  veins,  its  feel- 
ings, its  weaknesses  ;  let  not  his  new- 
born zeal  and  his  humility  tempt  us 
to  forego  our  ancient  wisdom.  Try 
him  first,  and  temper  him,  lest  one 
day  we  find  ourselves  leaning  on  a 
reed  for  a  staff." 

"  It  is  well  advised,"  said  the  prior. 
"  Take  him  in  hand  thyself." 

Then  Jerome,  following  the  an- 
cient wisdom,  took  Clement  and 
tried  him. 

One  day  he  brought  him  to  a  field 
Avhere  the  3-oung  men  amused  them- 
selves at  the  games  of  the  day ;  ho 
knew  this  to  be  a  haunt  of  Clement's 
late  friends. 

And  sure  enough  erelong  Pietro 
Vanucci  and  Andrea  passed  by  them, 
and  cast  a  careless  glance  on  the  two 
friars.  They  did  not  recognize  their 
dead  friend  in  a  shaven  monk. 

Clement  gave  a  very  little  start, 
and  then  lowered  his  eyes  and  said  a 
paternoster. 

"  Would  ye  not  speak  with  them, 
brother  ?  "  said  Clement,  trying  him. 

"  No,  brother  :  yet  was  it  good  fot 
me  to  see  them  They  remind  me  of 
the  sins  I  can  never  repent  enough." 

"  It  is  well,"  said  Jerome,  and  hi 
made  4  cold  report  in  Clement's  la 
yor. 


322 


THK   CLOISTER   ANI»   TIIK   IIKARTIL 


Then  Jerome  took  Clement  to  mrxny  | 
deatli-heds.  And  then  iiitu  noisome 
dunf^eons  ;  ])laee.s  where  the  diirkni':*.'* 
WHjj  api>tilliii;r.  imd  the  steneh  hmth- 
Bonie,  iiestik'ntiid  ;  and  men  lookin;: 
like  wild  kasts  hiy  eoiled  in  rairi  and 
filth  and  (K'sjiair.  It  tried  his  l)ody 
hard ;  hut  tlie  soul  eolhrted  all  its 
powers  to  eomlbrt  suelwjHior  wretehes 
there  as  were  not  past  eumfort.  Anil 
Clement  shone  in  that  trial.  Jerome 
re]>ortcd  that  Clement's  sy^irit  was 
wiilin;,',  hut  his  flesh  was  weak. 

"  Ciood  !  "  said  Anselm  ;  "  his  flesh 
is  weak,  hut  his  spirit  is  wiilinj;." 

But  there  wiu  a  greaUT  trial  in 
store. 

I  will  deserilio  it  as  it  was  seen  hy 
others. 

One  mominp  a  principal  street  in 
Rome  was  crowded,  and  even  the 
avenues  hlockeil  up  with  heads.  It 
was  an  cxwution.  No  common  crime 
had  bc9n  done,  and  on  no  vulgar  vic- 
tim. 

Tiie  governor  of  Rome  had  iKvn 
found  in  his  hed  at  dayhreak  sluiiffh- 
teriii.  His  hand,  raised  ])rohahly  in 
self-defence,  lay  hy  his  side  severeil  at 
the  wrist ;  his  throat  was  cut,  and  his 
tcmyiles  bruised  with  some  hlunt 
instrument.  The  murder  had  l)cen 
traced  to  his  scnant,  and  wius  to  Ik- 
expiated  in  kind  this  very  morning. 

Italian  executions  were  not  cniel 
in  general.  Hut  this  murder  was 
thought  to  call  for  exact  and  bloody 
retribution. 

The  criminal  was  brought  to  the 
house  of  the  murdered  man,  and  fas- 
tened for  half  an  hour  to  its  wall. 
After  this  foretaste  of  legal  vengeance 
his  left  hand  was  struck  ofi',  like  his 
victim's.  A  new  killed  fowl  wiis  cut 
open  and  fastened  round  the  bleeding 
stump ;  with  what  view  I  really  don't 
know;  but,  by  the  look  of  it,  some 
mare's  nest  of  the  ]>oor  dear  doctors ; 
and  the  murderer,  thus  mutilated  and 
bandaged,  was  hurried  tu  the  scaflold : 
and  there  a  young  friar  was  most 
earnest  and  aftectionate  in  praying 
with  him,  and  for  him,  and  holding 
the  crucifix  close  to  his  eyes. 


Presently  the  execntioncr  pulled 
the  friar  roughlv  on  one  side,  and  in 
a  moment  felU'<^  the  culprit  with  a 
heavv  mallet,  and.  falling  on  him,  cut 
bis  tfirout  from  ear  to  car. 

There  was  a  cry  of  horror  from  the 
crowd. 

The  young  friar  .<;wooni-d  away. 
A  gigantic   ini>nk   str<><le  forward, 
and  carried  him  otT  like  a  child. 

lirother  Clement  went  hack  to  the 
convent  Kadly  discouraged.  He  con- 
fcssctl  to  the  prior  with  tears  of  n-gret. 
"  Courage,  son  Clement,"  said  the 
prior.  "  A  Dominican  is  not  made 
in  a  <lay.  Thou  shalf  have  another 
trial.  And  I  forbid  thee  to  go  to  it 
fasting."  Clcmcjit  l>owcd  his  head 
in  token  of  olK^diencc.  He  had  not 
long  to  wait.  A  roblicr  was  brought 
to  the  scaflold  ;  a  monster  of  villanr 
and  cruelty,  who  had  killed  men  in 
jaire  wantonness,  after  robbing  thera. 
Clement  imsscfl  his  last  night  in 
prison  with  him,  accompanied  him  to 
the  scaffold  and  then  prayeil  with 
him  and  for  him  so  earnestly  that  the 
hanlened  ruthan  she<l  tears  and  em- 
braced him.  Clement  embraced  him 
tfK),  though  his  tlesh  ipiivered  with 
repugnance ;  and  held  the  crucifix 
earnestly  before  his  eyi-a.  The  man 
was  garroted,  and  Clement  lost 
sight  of  the  crowd,  and  prayed  loud 
and  earnestly  while  that  dark  spirit 
was  passing  from  earth.  He  was  no 
sooner  dead  than  the  hangman  rai.sed 
his  hatchet  and  quartered  the  Uulj 
on  the  spot.  And,  O  mysteriout 
heart  of  man  !  the  people,  who  had 
seen  the  living  body  robhtnl  of  life 
with  indirt'erencc,  almost  with  satis- 
faction, uttered  a  piteous  cry  at  each 
stroke  of  the  axe  upon  his  corpse 
that  could  feci  naught.  Clement  too 
shuddered  then,  but  stood  firm,  like 
one  of  those  rocks  that  vibrate  but 
cannot  be  thrown  down.  But  sudden- 
ly Jerome's  voiie  sounded  in  his  car. 
"  Brother  Clement,  get  thee  on  that 
cart  and  ]»reaeh  to  the  tx«plc.  Nay, 
(piickly  !  strike  with  all  thy  force  on 
all  this  iron,  while  yet 't  is  hot.  and 
souls  arc  to  be  saved." 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


323 


Clement's  color  came  and  went, 
and  he  breathed  hard.  But  he  obeyed, 
and  with  ill-assured  step  mounted  the 
cart,  and  preached  his  first  sermon  to 
the  first  crowd  he  had  ever  faced.  0, 
that  sea  of  heads  !  His  throat  seemed 
parched,  his  heart  thumped,  his  voice 
trembled. 

By  and  by  the  greatness  of  the  oc- 
casion, the  sight  of  the  eager,  up- 
turned faces,  and  his  own  heart  full 
of  zeal,  fired  the  pale  monk.  He  told 
them  this  robber's  history,  warm  from 
his  own  lips  in  the  prison,  and  showed 
his  hearers  by  that  example  the  gra- 
dations of  folly  and  crime,  and  warned 
them  solemnly  not  to  put  foot  on  the 
first  round  of  the  fatal  ladder.  And 
as  alternately  he  thundered  against 
the  shedders  of  blood,  and  moved  the 
crowd  to  charity  and  pity,  his  tremors 
left  him,  and  he  felt  all  strung  up  like 
a  lute,  and  gifted  with  an  unsuspected 
force  ;  he  was  master  of  that  listening 
crowd,  could  feel  their  very  pulse, 
could  play  sacred  melodies  on  them 
as  on  his  psaltery.  Sobs  and  groans 
attested  his  power  over  the  mob  al- 
ready excited  by  the  tragedy  before 
them.  Jerome  started  like  one  who 
goes  to  light  a  stick,  and  fires  a 
rocket.  After  a  while  Clement  caught 
his  look  of  astonishment,  and,  seeing 
no  approbation  in  it,  broke  suddenly 
oti'  and  joined  him. 

"  It  was  my  first  endeavor,"  said 
he,  apologetically.  "  Your  behest 
came  on  me  like  a  thunder-bolt.  Was 
I  —  ?  Did  I  —  ?  O,  correct  me 
and  aid  me  with  your  experience, 
brother  Jerome." 

"  Humph  ! "  said  Jerome,  doubt- 
fully. He  added,  rather  sullenly 
after  long  reflection,  "  Give  the  glory 
to  God,  brother  Clement ;  my  opinion 
is  thou  art  an  orator  born." 

He  reported  the  same  at  head- 
quarters, half  reluctantly.  For  he 
was  an  honest  friar,  though  a  disa- 
greeable one. 

One  Julio  Antonelli  was  accused 
of  sacrilege ;  three  witnesses  swore 
ihey  saw  him  come  out  of  the  church 


whence  the  candlesticks  were  stolen, 
and  at  the  very  time.  Other  wit- 
nesses proved  an  alibi  for  him  as 
positively.  Neither  testimony  could 
be  shaken.  In  this  doubt  Antonelli 
was  permitted  the  trial  by  water,  hot 
or  cold.  By  the  hot  trial  he  must 
put  his  bare  arms  into  boiling  water, 
fourteen  inches  deep,  and  take  out  a 
pebble ;  by  the  cold  trial  his  body 
must  be  let  down  into  eight  feet  of 
water.  The  clergy,  who  thought  him 
innocent,  recommended  the  hot  water 
trial,  which,  to  those  whom  they  fa- 
vored, was  not  so  terrible  as  it 
sounded.  But  the  poor  wretch  had 
not  the  nerve,  and  chose  the  cold  or- 
deal. And  this  gave  Jerome  another 
opportunity  of  steeling  Clement.  An- 
tonelli took  the  sacrament,  and  then 
was  stripped  naked  on  the  banks  of 
the  Tiber,  and  tied  hand  and  foot,  to 
prevent  those  struggles  by  which  a 
man,  throwing  his  arms  out  of  the 
water,  sinks  his  body. 

He  was  then  let  down  gently  into 
the  stream,  and  floated  a  moment, 
with  just  his  hair  above  water.  A 
simultaneous  roar  from  the  crowd  on 
each  bank  proclaimed  him  guilty. 
But  the  next  moment  the  ropes, 
which  happened  to  be  new,  got  wet, 
and  he  settled  down.  Another  roar 
proclaimed  his  innocence.  They  left 
him  at  the  bottom  of  the  river  the  ap- 
pointed time,  rather  more  than  half  a 
minute,  then  drew  him  up  gurgling, 
and  gasping,  and  screaming  for  mer- 
cy ;  and,  after  the  appointed  prayers, 
dismissed  him,  cleared  of  the  charge. 

During  the  experiment  Clement 
prayed  earnestly  on  the  bank.  When 
it  was  over  he  thanked  God  in  a  loud 
but  slightly  quavering  voice. 

By  and  by  he  asked  Jerome 
whether  the  man  ought  not  to  bo 
compensated. 

"  For  what?  " 

"  For  the  pain,  the  dread,  the  suf- 
focation. Poor  soul,  he  liveth,  but 
hath  tasted  all  the  bitterness  of  death. 
Yet  he  had  done  no  ill." 

"  He  is  rewarded  enough  in  that  hi 
is  cleared  of  his  fault" 


324 


THE  CLOISTER   AND  THE   HEARTH. 


"But,  bcinp  innocent  of  the  fault, 
yet  hath  lie  drunk  ik-ath's  cup,  thouf,'h 
not  to  the  ilre^'s ;  and  his  aecusera, 
less  innocent  than  he,  do  suffer 
naupht." 

Jerome  replied  somewhat  sternly. 

"  It  is  not  in  this  world  men  arc 
really  punished,  brother  Clement. 
Unhiipiiy  they  who  sin  yet  sufler  not. 
And  ha|)py  they  who  suffer  such  ills 
as  earth  hath  power  to  inflict;  'tis 
counted  to  them  above,  ay,  and  a 
huniired-t'old." 

C'lemeiit  bowed  his  head  submis- 
sively. 

"  Slay  thy  ^rood  words  not  fall  to 
the  f^round,  but  take  root  in  my  heart, 
brother  Jerome." 

But  the  severest  trial  Clement  un- 
derwent at  Jerome's  hands  was  un- 
5)remeditatcd.  It  came  about  thus, 
lerome,  in  an  in(lul;,'ent  moment, 
went  with  him  to  Fra  Colonna,  and 
there  "  The  Dream  of  I'olifilo"  lay  on 
the  table  just  cojiied  fairly.  The 
poor  author,  in  the  pride  of  his  heart, 
pointed  out  a  master-stroke  in  it. 

"  For  ajres,"  said  he,  "  fools  have 
been  lavishing;  ])0etic  prai.se  and  amo- 
rous compliment  on  mortal  women, 
mere  creatures  of  earth,  smacking 
pal])ably  of  their  origin  ;  Sirens  at 
the  windows,  where  our  Itoman  wo- 
men in  particular  have  by  lifelong 
study  learned  the  wily  art  to  show 
their  one  good  feature,  though  but  an 
car  or  an  eyelash,  at  a  jalosy,  and 
hide  all  the  rest ;  Magpies  at  the 
iloor,  Capre  n'  i  giardini,  Angeli  in 
Strada,  Sante  in  chiesa,  Diavoii  in 
casa.  Then  come  I  and  ransack  the 
minstrels'  lines  for  amorous  turns, 
not  forgetting  those  which  Petrarch 
wasted  on  that  French  jilt  Laura, 
the  slyest  of  them  all ;  and  I  lay  you 
the  whole  bundle  of  spice  at  the  feet  of 
the  only  females  worthy  amorous  in- 
cense :  to  wit,  the  Nine  Muses." 

"  By  which  goodly  stratagem,"  said 
Jerome,  who  had  been  turning  the 
pages  ail  this  time,  "you,  a  friar  of 
8t.  Dominic,  have  produced  an  ob- 
scene book."  And  bedashed  Politilo 
on  the  tabic. 


"  Obscene  ?  thou  diiTourtPonj 
monk  !  "  And  the  author  ran  round 
the  table,  snatchetl  I'olifiio  away, 
locketl  him  up,  and,  trembling  with 
nu)rtification,  said ;  "  My  Gerard, 
pshaw  !  brother  What's-his-namc, 
had  not  found  I'olifilo  obscene.  Puris 
omnia  pura." 

"  Such  as  read  your  I'olifilo  — 
Heaven  grant  they  m-.iy  be  few!  — 
will  find  him  what  I  fiml  him." 

Poor  ('olonna  guljied  down  this 
bitter  j)ill  as  he  might ;  and  luu)  he 
not  been  in  his  own  lodgings,  and  a 
highborn  gentleman  as  well  as  a 
scholar,  there  might  have  been  a  vul- 
gar ([uarrel.  As  it  was  he  made  a 
great  effort,  and  turned  the  conversa- 
tion to  a  beautiful  chrysolite  the 
Cardinal  Colonna  had  lent  him;  and, 
while  Clement  handled  it,  enlarged 
on  its  moral  virtues:  for  he  went  the 
whole  length  of  his  age  as  a  worship- 
jier  of  jewels.  But  .leromc  ilid  not, 
and  expostulated  with  him  for  believ- 
ing that  one  dead  stone  could  confer 
valor  on  its  wearer,  another  chastity, 
another  safety  from  poison,  another 
temperance. 

"  The  experience  of  ages  proves 
they  do,"  said  Colonna.  "  As  to  tho 
last  virtue  you  have  named,  there  sits 
a  living  ])roof  This  Gcraid  —  1  l)eg 
pardon,  brother  Thingcmy  —  comes 
from  the  north,  wliere  men  drink  like 
fishes ;  yet  was  he  ever  most  abste- 
mious. And  why  1  Carried  an  ame- 
thyst, the  clearest  and  fullest-colored 
e'er  I  saw  on  any  but  noble  finger. 
Where,  in  Heaven's  name,  is  thine 
amethyst?  Show  it  this  unbeliev- 
er ! " 

"  And  't  was  that  amethyst  made 
the  boy  temperate  7  "  asked  Jerome, 
ironically. 

"  Certainly.  "WTiy,  what  is  the  der- 
ivation and  meaning  of  amethyst  ?  a 
negative  and  uir'^vto}  to  tipple.  Go 
to,  names  are  but  the  signs  of  things. 
A  stone  is  not  called  a^uSvarof  for 
two  thousand  years  out  of  mere  sport 
and  abuse  of  language." 

He  then  w^cnt  through  the  prime 
jewels,  illustrating  their  moral  proj) 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


325 


erties,  especially  of  the  ruby,  the  sap- 
phire, the  emerald,  and  tlie  opal,  by 
inecdotes  out  of  grave  historians. 

"  These  be  old  wives'  fables,"  said 
Jerome,  contemptuously.  "  Was  ever 
such  credulity  as  thine  ■?  " 

Now  credulity  is  a  reproach  scep- 
tics have  often  the  ill-luck,  to  incur : 
but  it  mortifies  them  none  the  less  for 
that. 

The  believer  in  stones  writhed 
under  it,  and  dropped  the  subject. 
Then  Jerome,  mistaking  his  silence, 
exhorted  him  to  go  a  step  further,  and 
give  up  from  this  day  his  vain  pagan 
lore,  and  study  the  lives  of  the  saints. 

"  Blot  out  these  heathen  supersti- 
tions from  thy  mind,  brother,  as 
Christianity  hath  blotted  them  from 
the  earth." 

And  in  this  strain  he  proceed- 
ed, repeating,  incautiously,  some  cur- 
rent but  loose  theological  statements. 
Then  the  smarting  Polililo  revenged 
himself  He  flew  out,  and  hurled  a 
mountain  of  crude  miscellaneous  lore 
upon  Jerome,  of  which,  partly  for 
want  of  time,  partly  for  lack  of  learn- 
ing, I  can  reproduce  but  a  few  frag- 
ments. 

"  The  heathen  blotted  out  1  Why, 
they  hold  four  fifths  of  the  world. 
And  what  have  we  Christians  invent- 
ed without  their  aid  7  painting  1 
sculpture?  these  are  heathen  arts, 
and  we  but  pygmies  at  them.  What 
modern  mind  can  conceive  and  grave 
so  godlike  forms  as  did  the  chief 
Athenian  sculptors  and  the  Libyan 
Licas,  and  Dinocrates  of  Macedon, 
and  Scopas,  Timotheus,  Leochares, 
and  Briaxis,  Chares,  Lysippus,  and 
the  immortal  three  of  Rhodes,  that 
wrought  Laocoon  from  a  single 
block  "?  What  prince  hath  the  genius 
to  turn  mountains  into  statues,  as  was 
done  at  Bagistan,  and  projected  at 
Athos  ?  what  town  the  soul  to  plant 
a  colossus  of  brass  in  the  sea,  for  the 
tallest  ships  to  sail  in  and  out  between 
liis  legs  '  Is  it  architecture  we  have 
invented  ?  Why,  here  too  we  are  but 
children.  Can  we  match  for  pure  de- 
bign  the  Parthenon,  with  its  clusters 


of  double  and  single  Doric  columns  ? 
( I  do  adore  the  Doric  when  the  scale 
is  large, )  and,  for  grandeur  and  finish, 
the  theatres  of  Greece  and  Rome,  or 
the  prodigious  temples  of  Egypt,  up 
to  whose  portals  men  walked  awe- 
struck through  avenues  a  mile  long  of 
sphinxes,  each  as  big  as  a  Venetian 
palace.  And  all  these  prodigies  of 
porphyry  cut  and  polished  like  crys- 
tal, not  rough  hewn  as  in  our  puny 
structures.  Even  now  their  polished 
columns  and  pilasters  lie  o'erthrown 
and  broken,  o'ergrown  with  acanthus 
and  myrtle,  but  sparkling  still,  and 
flouting  the  slovenly  art  of  modern 
workmen.  Is  it  sewers,  aqueducts, 
viaducts  ? 

"  Why,  we  have  lost  the  art  of  mak- 
ing a  road,  —  lost  it  with  the  world's 
greatest  models  under  our  very  eye. 
Is  it  sepulchres  of  the  dead  ?  Why, 
no  Christian  nation  has  ever  erected 
a  tomb,  the  sight  of  which  does  not 
set  a  scholar  laughing.  Do  but  think 
of  the  Mausoleum,  and  the  Pyramids, 
and  the  monstrous  sepulchres  of  the 
Indus  and  Ganges,  Avhich  outside  arc 
mountains,  and  within  are  mines  of 
precious  stones.  Ah,  you  have  not 
seen  the  East,  Jerome,  or  you  could 
not  decry  the  heathen." 

Jerome  observed  that  these  were 
mere  material  things.  True  gentle- 
ness was  in  the  soul. 

"  Well,  then,"  replied  Colonna, 
"  in  the  world  of  mind  what  have  we 
discovered  1  Is  it  geometry  1  Is  it 
logic '?  Nay,  we  are  all  pupils  of  Eu- 
clid and  Aristotle.  Is  it  written  char- 
acters, an  invention  almost  divine? 
We  no  more  invented  it  than  Cad- 
mus did.  Is  it  poetry  ?  Homer  hath 
never  been  approached  by  us,  nor 
hath  Virgil,  nor  Horace.  Is  it  trage- 
dy or  comedy  1  Why,  poets,  actors, 
theatres,  all  fiill  to  dust  at  our  touch. 
Have  we  succeeded  in  reviving  them  ? 
Would  you  compare  our  little  miser- 
able mysteries  and  moralities,  all 
frigid  personification  and  dog  Latin, 
with  the  glories  of  a  Greek  play  (on 
the  decoration  of  which  a  hundred 
thousand  crowns    had    been   spent) 


326 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


performed  inside  a  marble  mimele, 
the  audience  a  seated  city,  and  the 
poet  a  So|)hwK'S  ! 

"  What  then  have  we  invented  ?  Is 
it  monotheism  f  Why,  the  learned, 
and  iihilosophieal  anion;;  the  (i recks 
and  liomans  held  it  ;  even  their  more 
inli;j:htened  jHJCtsvvere  monotheists  in 
their  sleeves. 

Zeu?    tiTTiv    ovpavo^,    Ztv^    t«    y>),    Z«u?    TOi 

saith  the  Greek,  and  Lucan  eeluK's 
him  :  — 

'Jupiter    est  quodcunque   vides  quocun<iue 
moveria.' 

"  Their  vul^rnr  were  polytheist.s  ; 
and  what  arc  ours  f  ^^  e  have  not 
invented  '  invocation  of  the  saints.' 
Our  sancti  answer  to  their  I):emones 
and  Divi,  and  the  heathen  used  to 
jjray  their  Divi  or  deified  mortals  to 
intcreede  with  the  hi;,'her  divinity  ; 
but  the  ruder  minds  ainonj;  them, 
incapable  of  nice  distinctions,  wor- 
shipjicd  those  lesser  t:ods  they  should 
have  invoked.  And  so  do  the  mob  of 
Christians  in  our  day,  following:  the 
heathen  vul^rar  by  unbroken  tradi- 
tion. For  in  holy  writ  is  no  polythe- 
ism of  any  sort  or  kind. 

"  We  have  not  invented  so  much 
as  a  form,  or  variety,  of  ]>olytheism. 
Tnc  pa^ran  vul^^ar  worshij)pcd  all 
sorts  of  deiticd  mortals,  and  each  had 
his  favorite  to  whom  he  prayed  ten 
times  for  once  to  the  Omnipotent. 
Our  vul;:ar  worsliip  canonized  mor- 
tals, and  each  has  his  favorite,  to 
whom  he  prays  ten  times  tor  once  to 
God.  Call  you  that  invention  !  In- 
vention is  confined  to  the  East. 
Among  the  ancient  vulgar  only  the 
mariners  were  monotheists ;  they 
worshipped  Venus  ;  called  her  '  Stel- 
la maris,'  and  '  Regina  caelorum.' 
Among  our  vulgar  only  the  mariners 
are  monotheists ;  they  worship  the 
Virgin  Marj%  and  call  lier  '  the  Star 
of  the  Sea,'  and  '  the  Queen  of 
Heaven.'  Call  you  theirs  a  new  re- 
ligion ?  An  old  doublet  with  a  new 
button.  Our  vulgar  make  images, 
and   adore   them,   which   is   absurd ; 


for  adoration  is  the  homage  dnc  from 
a  creature  to  a  creator:  now  hero 
mi\n  is  the  creator ;  so  the  statuoa 
ought  to  wor>iiip  him,  and  would,  if 
thiy  had  bruins  efiougli  to  justify  a 
rat  in  \vor<hip|iing  tlicin.  Hut  even 
this  abuse,  though  childi.>li  enough  to 
be  modern,  is  ivncient.  Tiie  i>agan 
vulgar  in  these  parts  made  their  im- 
ages, then  knelt  l)efore  them,  adorned 
tiiem  with  flowers,  offen-ii  incenso  to 
them,  lighted  tapers  iRfore  them,  car- 
ried tiiem  in  vroee.vsion,  and  made 
pilgrimages  to  them  just  to  the  small- 
est tittle  as  we  their  imitators  do." 

Jerome  here  broke  in  impatiently, 
and  reminded  him  that  the  images 
the  most  n-vend  in  Christendom 
were  nnide  by  no  mortal  hand,  but 
had  dropt  from  heaven. 

"  Ay,  '  cried  Colonna,  "  such  arc 
the  tutelary  images  of  most  great 
Italian  towns.  I  have  examined 
nineteen  of  them,  an<l  made  draughts 
of  them.  If  they  came  from  the  sky, 
our  worst  sculptors  are  our  angels. 
Hut  my  mind  is  easy  on  that  score. 
Ungainly  statue  or  villanous  daub 
fell  never  }  ct  from  heaven  to  smuggle 
the  bread  out  of  capable  workmen's 
mouths.  All  this  is  pagan,  and 
arose  thus.  The  Trojans  had  Orien- 
tal imaginations,  and  feigned  that 
their  Palladium,  a  woo<len  statue 
three  cubits  long,  fell  down  from 
heaven.  The  (ireeks  took  this  fib 
home  among  the  spoils  of  Troy,  and 
soon  it  rained  statues  on  all  the  Gre- 
cian cities  and  their  Latin  ayycs. 
And  one  of  these  Palladia  gave  S(^ 
Paul  tnnible  at  Ki)hesus ;  't  was  a 
statue  of  Diana  that  fell  down  from 
Jupiter :  credat  qui  credere  possit." 

"  What,  would  you  cast  your  pro- 
fane doubts  on  that  picture  of  Our 
Blessed  Lady,  which  scarce  a  century 
agone  hung  lustrous  in  the  air  over 
this  very  city,  and  was  taken  down 
by  the  pope  and  bestowed  in  St.  Pe- 
ter's Church  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  profane  doubts  on  the 
matter,  Jerome.  This  is  the  story  of 
Numa's  shield,  revived  by  theolo- 
gians with    an  itch  for  fiction,  but  no 


THE  CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


327 


talent  that  way  ;  not  being  Orientals. 
The  '  ancile,'  or  sacred  shield  of 
Numa,  hung  lustrous  in  the  air  over 
this  very  city,  till  that  pious  prince 
took  it  down  and  hung  it  in  the  tem- 
ple of  Jupiter.  Be  just,  swallow  both 
stories  or  neither.  The  '  Bocca  della 
Verita '  passes  for  a  statue  of  the  Vir- 
gin, and  convicted  a  woman  of  per- 
jury the  other  day ;  it  is  in  reality  an 
image  of  the  goddess  Rhea,  and  the 
modern  figment  is  one  of  its  ancient 
traditions  :  swallow  both  or  neither. 

'Qui  Bavium  mon    otlit  amet  tua  carmina, 
Mavi.' 

"  But  indeed  we  owe  all  our  Palladi- 
uncula,  and  all  our  speaking,  nodding, 
winking,  sweating,  bleeding  statues 
to  these  poor  abused  heathens ;  the 
Athenian  statues  all  sweated  before 
the  battle  of  Chaeronea,  so  did  the  Ro- 
man statues  during  Tully's  consul- 
ship, viz.  the  statue  of  Victory  at 
Capua,  of  Mars  at  Rome,  and  of 
Apollo  outside  the  gates.  The  Pal- 
ladium itself  was  brought  to  Italy  by 
iEneas,  and,  after  keeping  quiet  three 
centuries,  made  an  observation  in 
Vesta's  Temple  :  a  trivial  one,  I  fear, 
since  it  hath  not  survived ;  Juno's 
statue  at  Veil  assented  with  a  nod  to 
go  to  Rome.  Anthony's  statue  on 
Mount  Alban  bled  from  every  vein  in 
its  marble  before  the  fight  of  Actium. 
Others  cured  diseases  :  as  that  of 
Pelichus,  derided  by  Lucian  ;  for  the 
wiser  among  the  heathen  believed  in 
sweating  marble,  weeping  wood,  and 
bleeding  brass  —  as  I  do.  Of  all 
our  marks  and  dents  made  in  stone 
by  soft  substances,  this  saint's  knee, 
and  that  saint's  fingers,  and  t'other's 
head,  the  original  is  heathen.  Thus 
the  footprints  of  Hercules  were  shown 
on  a  rock  in  Scythia.  Castor  and 
Pollux  fighting  on  white  horses  for 
Rome  against  the  Latians  left  the 
prints  of  their  hoofs  on  a  rock  at 
Kegillum.  A  temple  was  built  to 
them  on  the  spot,  and  the  marks 
were  to  be  seen  in  Tully's  day.  You 
may  see  near  Venice  a  great  stone 
cut  nearly  in   half  by  St.   George's 


sword.  This  he  ne'er  had  done  but 
for  the  old  Roman  who  cut  the  whet- 
stone in  two  with  his  razor. 

'  Qui    Bavium  uon  odit  amet   tua  carmina, 
Mavi.' 

"  Kissing  of  images  and  the  pope's 
toe  is  Eastern  Paganism.  The 
Egyptians  had  it  of  the  Assyrians, 
the  Greeks  of  the  Egyptians,  the  Ro- 
mans of  the  Greeks,  and  we  of  the 
Romans,  whose  Pontifex  Maximus 
had  his  toe  kissed  under  the  Empire. 
The  Druids  kissed  their  High  Priest's 
toe  a  thousand  years  b.  c.  The  Mus- 
sulmans, who,  like  you,  profess  to  ab- 
hor Heathenism,  kiss  the  stone  of  the 
Caaba ;  a  Pagan  practice. 

"  The  Priests  of  Baal  kissed  their 
idols  so. 

"  Tully  tells  us  of  a  fair  image  of 
Hercules  at  Agrigentum,  whose  chin 
was  worn  by  kissing.  The  lower 
parts  of  the  statue  we  call  Peter  are 
Jupiter.  The  toe  is  sore  worn,  but 
not  all  by  Christian  mouths.  The 
heathen  vulgar  laid  tiieir  lips  there 
first  for  many  a  year,  and  ours  have 
but  followed  them,  as  monkeys  their 
masters.  And  that  is  why,  down 
with  the  poor  heathen  !  Pereant  qui 
ante  nos  nostra  fecerint. 

"  Our  infant  baptism  is  Persian, 
with  the  font,  and  the  signing  of  the 
child's  brow.  Our  throwing  three 
handfuls  of  earth  on  the  coftin,  and 
saying  dust  to  dust,  is  Egyptian. 

"  Our  incense  is  Oriental,  Roman, 
Pagan  ;  and  the  early  Fathers  of  the 
Church  regarded  it  with  superstitious 
horror,  and  died  for  refusing  to  han- 
dle it.  Our  holy  water  is  Pagan,  and 
all  its  uses.  See,  here  is  a  Pagan 
aspersorium.  Could  you  tell  it  from 
one  of  ours  1  It  stood  in  the  same 
part  of  their  temples,  and  was  used 
in  ordinary  worship  as  ours,  and  in 
extraordinary  purifications.  They 
called  it  Aqua  lustralis.  Their  ■vul- 
gar, like  ours,  thought  drops  of  it 
falling  on  the  body  would  wash  out 
sin ;  and  their  men  of  sense,  like 
ours,  smiled  or  sighed  at  such  credu- 
lity. What  saith  Ovid  of  this  folljf 
which  hath  outlived  him "? 


828 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE   HEARTH. 


'  Ah  nimium  faciles,  qui  tristia  crimina  coedis 
Fluminea  tolli  posse  putetis  aqua.' 

Thou  secst  tlic  heathen  were  not  all 
fools.     No  more  arc  we.     Not  all." 

Fra  Colonna  uttered  all  this  with 
such  volubility  that  his  hearers  could 
not  edjj:e  in  a  word  of  remonstrance  ; 
and,  not  being  interrupted  in  praising 
his  fiivoritcs,  he  recovered  his  good- 
humor  without  any  diminution  of  his 
volubility. 

"  We  celebrate  the  miraculous  Con- 
ception of  the  Virgin  on  the  2d  of 
February.  The  old  Romans  cele- 
brated the  miraculous  Conception  of 
Juno  on  the  2d  of  February.  Our 
feast  of  All  Saints  is  on  the  2d  No- 
vember. The  Festum  Dei  Mortis 
was  on  the  2d  November.  Our  Can- 
dlemas is  also  an  old  Roman  feast ; 
neither  the  date  nor  the  ceremony  al- 
tered one  tittle.  The  patrician  ladies 
carried  candles  about  the  city  that 
night,  as  our  signoras  do  now.  At 
the  gate  of  San  Croce  our  courtesans 
keep  a  feast  on  the  20th  August. 
Ask  them  why.  The  little  noodles 
cannot  tell  you.  On  that  very  spot 
stood  the  Temple  of  Venus.  Her 
building  is  gone ;  but  her  rite  re- 
mains. Did  we  discover  Purgatory  ? 
On  the  contrary  all  we  really  know 
about  it  is  from  two  treatises  of  Pla- 
to, the  Gorgias  and  the  Phajdo,  and 
the  sixth  book  of  Virgil's  ^neid." 

"  I  take  it  from  a  holier  source,  St. 
Gregory,"  said  Jerome,  sternly. 

"  Like  enough,"  replied  Colonna, 
dryly.  "  But  St.  Gregory  was  not 
so  nice  ;  he  took  it  from  Virgil. 
Some  souls,  saith  Gregory,  are  jnirged 
by  fire,  others  by  water,  others  by  air. 

"  Says  Virgil :  — 

'  Alire  panduntur  inanes, 
SuspensjE  ad  veutos,  aliis  sub  gurgite  vasto 
Infectam  eluitur  scelus,  aut  exuritur  igni.' 

But,  j)eradventure,  you  think  Pope 
Gregory  I.  lived  before  Virgil,  and 
Virgil  versified  him. 

"  But  the  doctrine  is  Eastern,  and 
as  much  older  than  Plato  as  Plato 
than  Gregory.  Our  prayers  for  the 
doad  came  from  Asia  with  ^neas. 


Ovid  tells  that,  when  he  prayed  for 
the  soul  of  Anchiscs,  the  custom  was 
strange  in  Italy. 

'  Hunc  morem  /Ebaaas,  pietatis  idoneus  auctor 
Atlulit  in  terras,  juste  Latiue,  tuas.' 

The  '  Biblicaa  Sortes,'  which  I  have 
seen  consulted  on  the  altar,  are  a  par- 
ody on  the  '  Sortes  Virgiliana).'  Our 
numerous  altars  in  one  church  are 
heathen  ;  the  Jews,  who  are  mono- 
theists,  have  but  one  altar  in  a  church. 
But  the  I'agans  had  many,  being  pol- 
ytheists.  In  the  temj)le  of  Paphian 
Venus  were  a  hundred  of  them. 
'  Ccntumque  Sabtco  thure  calent  arae.' 
Our  altars  and  our  hundred  lights 
around  St.  Peter's  tomb  are  Pagan. 
'  Centum  aras  posuit  vigilemque  sa- 
cra verat  ignem.'  We  invent  noth- 
ing, not  even  numerically.  Our  very 
Devil  is  the  god  Pan  ;  horns,  and 
hoofs,  and  all :  but  blackened.  For 
we  cannot  draw ;  we  can  but  daub 
the  figure  of  Antiquity  with  a  little 
sorry  paint  or  soot.  Our  Moses  hath 
stolen  the  horns  of  Ammon ;  our 
Wolfgang  tlie  book  of  Saturn ;  and 
Janus  bore  the  keys  of  Heaven  before 
St.  Peter.  All  our  really  old  Italian 
bronzes  of  the  Virgin  and  Child  are 
Vcnuscs  and  Cupids.  So  is  the  wood- 
en statue  that  stands  hard  by  this 
house,  of  Pope  Joan  and  the  child  she 
is  said  to  have  brought  forth  there  in 
the  middle  of  a  procession.  Idiots ! 
are  new-born  children  thirteen  years 
old?  And  that  boy  is  not  a  day 
younger.  Cupid  !  Cupid  !  Cupid ! 
And,  since  you  accuse  me  of  credulity, 
know  that  to  my  mind  that  Papess  is 
full  as  mythological,  born  of  froth, 
and  every  way  unreal,  as  the  goddess 
who  passes  for  her  in  the  next  street, 
or  as  the  saints  you  call  St.  Baccho 
and  St.  Quirina ;  or  St.  Oracte, 
which  is  a  dunce-like  corruption  of 
Mount  Soracte,  or  St.  Amphibolus, 
an  English  saint,  which  is  a  dunce- 
like  corruption  of  the  cloak  worn  by 
their  St.  Alban,  or  as  the  Spanish 
saint,  St.  Viar,  which  words  on  his 
tombstone,  written  thus,  '  S.  Viar,' 
prove  him  no  saint,  but  a  good  old 


THE   CLOISTER  AND   THE  HEARTH. 


329 


nameless  heathen,  and  '  praefectus  Vi- 
aruin,'or  overseer  of  roads,  (would  he 
■were  back  to  earth,  and  paganizing 
of  our  Christian  roads  !  )  or  as  our 
St  Veronica  of  Benasco,  which  Ve- 
ronica is  a  dunce-like  corruption  of 
the  *  Veruni  icon,'  which  this  saint 
brought  into  the  Church.  I  wish  it 
may  not  be  as  unreal  as  the  donor,  or 
as  the  eleven  thousand  virgins  of  Co- 
logne who  were  but  a  couple." 

Clement  interrupted  him  to  inquire 
what  he  meant.  "  I  have  spoken 
with  those  have  seen  their  bones." 

"  What,  of  eleven  thousand  virgins 
all  collected  in  one  place  and  at  one 
time  ?  Do  but  bethink  thee,  Clement. 
Not  one  of  the  great  Eastern  cities 
of  antiquity  could  collect  eleven  thou- 
sand Pagan  virgins  at  one  time,  far 
less  a  puny  Western  city.  Eleven 
thousand  Vhristiun  vinjins  in  a  little, 
wee,  Faynim  city  ! 

'Quodcunque    osteadis  mihi    sic   iucredulus 
odi.' 

The  simple  sooth  is  this.  The  mar- 
tyrs were  two  :  the  Breton  Princess 
herself,  falsely  called  British,  and  her 
maid  Onesimilla,  which  is  a  Greek 
name,  Onesima,  diminished.  This 
some  fool  did  mispronounce  undecim 
mille,  eleven  thousand  :  loose  tongue 
found  credulous  ears,  and  so  one  fool 
made  manj- ;  eleven  thousand  of  them, 
an  you  will.  And  you  charge  me 
with  credulity,  Jerome  ■?  and  bid  me 
read  the  lives  of  the  saints.  Well,  I 
have  read  them  :  and  many  a  dear  old 
Pagan  acquaintance  I  found  there. 
The  best  fictions  in  the  book  are  Ori- 
ental, and  are  known  to  have  been 
current  in  Persia  and  Arabia  eight 
hundred  years  and  more  before  the 
dates  the  Church  assigns  to  them  as 
facts.  As  for  the  true  Western  tig- 
meuts,  they  lack  the  Oriental  plausi- 
bility. Think  you  I  am  credulous 
enough  to  believe  that  St.  Ida  joined 
a  decapitated  head  to  its  body  '.  that 
Cuthbert's  carcass  directed  his  bearers 
where  to  go,  ami  where  to  stop  1  that 
a  city  was  eaten  up  of  rats  to  punish 
one  Hatto  for  comparing  the  poor  to 


mice  ?  that  angels  have  a  little  horn 
in  their  foreheads,  and  that  this  was 
seen  and  recorded  at  the  time  by  St. 
Veronica  of  Benasco,  who  never  ex- 
isted, and  hath  left  us  this  information 
and  a  miraculous  handkercher  ?  For 
my  part,  I  think  the  holiest  woman 
the  world  ere  saw  must  have  an  exist- 
ence ere  she  can  have  a  handkercher, 
or  an  eye  to  take  unicorns  for  angels. 
Think  you  I  believe  that  a  brace  of 
lions  turned  sextons  and  helped  An- 
thony bury  Paul  of  Thebes  ?  that 
Patrick,  a  Scotch  saint,  stuck  a  goat's 
beard  on  all  the  descendants  of  one 
that  oficnded  him  f  that  certain 
thieves,  having  stolen  the  convent 
ram,  and  denying  it,  St.  Pol  de  Leon 
bade  the  ram  bear  witness,  and  straight 
the  mutton  bleated  in  the  thiefs  belly? 
Would  you  have  me  give  up  the  skil- 
ful figments  of  antiquity  for  such  old 
wives'  fables  as  these  ?  The  ancients 
lied  about  animals,  too :  but  then  they 
lied  logically  ;  we  unreasonably.  Do 
but  compare  Ephis  and  his  lion,  or, 
better  still,  Androcles  and  his  lion, 
with  Anthony  and  his  two  lions. 
Both  the  pagan  lions  do  what  lions 
never  did,  but  at  the  least  they  act  in 
character.  A  lion  with  a  bone  in  his 
throat,  or  a  thorn  in  his  foot,  could 
not  do  better  than  be  civil  to  a  man. 
But  Anthony's  lions  are  asses  in  a 
lion's  skin.  What  leonine  motive 
could  they  have  in  turning  sextons  ? 
A  lion's  business  is  to  make  corpses, 
not  inter  them."  He  added  with  a 
sigh,  "  Our  lies  are  as  inferior  to  the 
lies  of  the  ancients  as  our  statues,  and 
for  the  same  reason ;  we  do  not  study 
nature  as  they  did.  We  are  imita- 
tores,  servTim  pecus.  Believe  you 
'  the  lives  of  the  saints  '  1  that  Paul 
the  Theban  was  the  first  hermit,  and 
Anthony  the  first  Ctenobite  ?  Why, 
Pythagoras  was  an  Eremite,  and  un- 
der ground  for  seven  years,  and  his 
daughter  was  an  abbess.  Monks  and 
hermits  were  in  the  East  long  before 
Moses,  and  neither  old  Greece  nor 
Rome  was  ever  without  them.  As  for 
St.  Francis  and  his  snowballs,  he  dicS 
but    mimic    Diogenes,  who,  naked, 


330 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE   HEARTH- 


embraced  statues  on  which  snow  liad 
fallen.  The  folly  without  the  poetry. 
Ape  of  an  ape,  —  for  Diogenes  was 
but  a  mimic  therein  of  the  Brahmins 
and  Indian  gymnosophists.  Nathe- 
less,  the  children  of  tlii.s  Francis  bid 
fair  to  j)elt  us  out  of  tlie  Church  with 
their  snowballs.  Tell  nie  now,  Clem- 
ent, what  habit  is  lovelier  than  the 
vestments  of  our  priests  ?  Well,  wc 
owe  them  all  to  Numa  I'ompilius,  ex- 
cept the  girdle  and  the  stole,  which  arc 
judaical.  As  for  the  amice  and  the 
alb,  they  retain  the  very  names  they 
bore  in  Numa's  day.  The  '  pelt ' 
worn  by  the  canons  comes  from  pri- 
meval Paganism.  'T  is  a  relic  of  those 
rude  times  when  the  .sacrificing  priests 
wore  the  skins  of  tiie  beasts  with  the 
fur  outward.  Strij)  off  thy  black 
gown,  Jerome,  thy  girdle  and  cowl, 
for  they  come  to  us  all  three  from  the 
Pagan  ladies.  Let  thy  hair  grow 
like  Absalom's,  Jerome  !  for  the  ton- 
sure is  as  Pagan  as  the  Muses." 

"  Take  care  what  thou  sayest,"  said 
Jerome,  sternly.  "  We  know  the  very 
year  in  which  the  Church  did  first  or- 
dain it." 

"  But  not  invent  it,  Jerome.  The 
Brahmins  wore  it  a  few  thousand 
years  ere  that.  From  them  it  came 
through  the  Assyrians  to  the  priests 
of  Isis  in  Egypt,  and  afterwards  of 
Serapis  at  Athens.  The  late  pope 
(the  saints  be  good  to  him)  once  told 
me  the  tonsure  was  forbidden  by  God 
to  the  Levites  in  the  Pentateuch.  If 
so,  this  was  because  of  the  Egyptian 
priests  wearing  it.  I  trust  to  his 
Holiness.  I  am  no  biblical  scholar. 
The  Latin  of  thy  namesake  Jerome  is 
a  barrier  I  cannot  overleap.  '  Dixit 
ad  me  Dominus  Deus.  Dixi  ad  Do- 
minmn  Deum.'  No,  thank  you,  holy 
Jerome  ;  I  can  stand  a  good  deal,  but 
I  cannot  stand  thy  Latin.  Nay ;  give 
me  the  New  Testament !  'T  is  not 
the  Greek  of  Xenophon  ;  but  't  is 
Greek.  And  there  be  heathen  sayings 
in  it  too.  F^or  St.  Paul  was  not  so 
spiteful  against  them  as  thou.  When 
the  heathen  said  a  good  thing  that 
suited  his  matter,  by  Jupiter  he  just 


took  it,  and  mixed  it  to  all  etemitj 
with  the  inspired  text." 

"  Come  forth,  Clement,  come 
forth  !  "  said  Jerome,  rising  ;  "  and 
thou  profane  monk,  know  that,  but 
for  the  powerful  house  that  u])holds 
thee,  thy  accursed  heresy  should  go 
no  further,  for  I  would  have  thee 
bunied  at  the  stake."  And  he  strode 
out  white  with  indignation. 

Colonna's  reception  of  this  threat 
did  credit  to  him  as  an  enthusiast. 
He  ran  and  hallooed  joyfully  after 
Jerome.  "  And  that  is  Pagan.  Burn- 
ing of  men's  bodies  for  the  opinions 
of  their  souls  is  a  ))urely  Pagan  cus- 
tom, —  as  Pagan  as  incense,  holy  wa- 
ter, a  hundred  altars  in  one  church, 
the  tonsure,  the  cardinal's,  or  flamen's 
hat,  the  word  '  iiojie,'  the  —  " 

Here  Jerome  slammed  the  door. 

But  ere  they  could  get  clear  of  the 
house  a  jalosy  was  flung  oj)cn,  and 
the  Paynim  monk  came  out  head  and 
shoulders,  and  overhung  the  street 
shouting, 

"  '  Affecti  suppliciis  Cliristiani,  genus  homi- 
num 
Novffl  superstitionis  ac  maleficse.'" 

And,  having  delivered  this  parting 
blow,  he  felt  a  great  triumphant  joy, 
and  strode  exultant  to  and  fro;  and 
not  attending  with  his  usual  care  to 
the  fair  way  (for  his  room  could  only 
be  threaded  by  little  paths  wriggling 
among  the  antiquities),  tripped  over 
the  beak  of  an  Egyptian  stork,  and 
rolled  upon  a  regiment  of  Armenian 
gods,  which  he  found  tough  in  argu- 
ment though  small  in  stature. 

"  You  will  go  no  more  to  that  heret- 
ical monk,"  said  Jerome  to  Clement. 

Clement  sighed.  "  Shall  we  leave 
him  and  not  try  to  correct  him  ? 
Make  allowance  for  heat  of  discourse  ! 
He  was  nettled.  His  words  are  worse 
than  his  acts.  O,  't  is  a  pure  and 
charitable  soul." 

"  So  are  all  arch-heretics.  Satan 
does  not  tempt  them  like  other  men. 
Rather  he  makes  them  more  moral  to 
gire  their  teaching  weight.  Fra  Co- 
lonna  cannot  be  corrected ;  his  family 
is  all-powerful  in   Rome.     Pray   we 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE   HEARTH. 


331 


the  saints  he  blasphemes  to  enlighten 
hira.  'T  will  not  be  the  first  time 
they  have  returned  good  for  evil. 
Meantime  thou  art  forbidden  to  con- 
sort with  him.  From  this  day  go 
alone  through  the  city  !  Confess  and 
absolve  sinners  !  exorcise  demons  ! 
comfort  the  sick !  terrify  the  impeni- 
tent !  preach  wherever  men  are  gath- 
ered and  occasion  serves !  and  hold 
no  converse  with  the  Fra  Colonna !  " 

Clement  bowed  his  head. 

Then  the  prior,  at  Jerome's  request, 
had  the  young  friar  watched.  And 
one  day  the  spy  returned  with  the 
news  that  brother  Clement  had  passed 
by  the  Fra  Colonna's  lodging,  and 
had  stopped  a  little  while  in  the  street 
and  then  gone  on,  but  with  his  hand 
to  his  eyes,  and  slowly. 

This  report  Jerome  took  to  the 
prior.  The  prior  asked  his  opinion, 
and  also  Anselm's,  who  was  then  tak- 
ing leave  of  him  on  his  return  to 
Juliers. 

Jerome,  "  Humph  !  ITc  obeyed,  but 
with  regret,  ay,  with  childish  repin- 
ing." 

Anselm.  "  He  shed  a  natural  tear 
at  turning  his  back  on  a  friend  and  a 
benefactor.     But  he  obeyed." 

Now  Anselm  was  one  of  your  gen- 
tle irrcsistibles.  He  had  at  times  a 
mild  ascendant  even  over  Jerome. 

"  Worthy  brother  Anselm,"  said 
Jerome,  "  Clement  is  weak  to  the 
very  bone.  He  will  disappoint  thee. 
He  will  do  nothing  great,  either  for 
the  Church  or  for  our  holy  order. 
Yet  he  is  an  orator,  and  hath  drunken 
of  tlic  spirit  of  St.  Dominic.  Fly  him, 
then,  with  a  string." 

That  same  day  it  was  announced  to 
Clement  that  he  was  to  go  to  England 
immediately  with  brother  Jerome. 

Clement  folded  his  hands  on  his 
breast,  and  bowed  his  head  in  calm 
submission. 


CHAPTER  LXXin. 

A  Catherine  is  not  an  unmixed 
good  in  a  strange  Jiouse.     The  gov- 


erning power  is  strong  in  her.  She 
has  scarce  crossed  the  threshold  ere 
the  utensils  seem  to  brighten ;  the 
hearth  to  sweep  itself;  the  windows 
to  let  in  more  light ;  and  the  soul  of 
an  enormous  cricket  to  animate  the 
dwelling-place.  But  this  cricket  is  a 
Busy  Body.  And  that  is  a  tremen- 
dous character.  It  has  no  discrimina- 
tion. It  sets  everything  to  rights, 
and  everybody.  Now  many  things 
are  the  better  for  being  set  to  rights. 
But  everything  is  not.  Everything  is 
the  one  thing  that  won't  stand  being 
set  to  rights,  except  in  that  calm  and 
cool  retreat,  the  grave. 

Catherine  altered  the  position  of 
every  chair  and  table  in  Margaret's 
house,  and  perhaps  for  the  better. 

But  she  must  go  further,  and  upset 
the  live  furniture. 

When  Margaret's  time  was  close  at 
hand,  Catherine  treacherously  invited 
the  aid  of  Denys  and  Martin  ;  and, 
on  the  poor,  simple-minded  fellows 
asking  her  earnestly  what  service  they 
could  be,  she  told  them  they  might 
make  themselves  comparatively  use- 
ful by  going  for  a  little  walk.  So  far 
so  good.  But  she  intimated  further 
that  should  the  promenade  extend 
into  the  middle  of  next  week  all  the 
better.     This  was  not  ingratiating. 

The  subsequent  conduct  of  the 
strong  under  the  yoke  of  the  weak 
might  have  propitiated  a  she-bear 
with  three  cubs,  one  sickly.  They 
generally  slipped  out  of  the  house  at 
daybreak :  and  stole  in  like  thieves  at 
night :  and  if  by  any  chance  they 
were  at  home,  they  went  about  like 
cats  on  a  wall  tipped  with  broken 
glass,  and  wearing  awe-struck  visages 
and  a  general  air  of  subjugation  and 
depression. 

But  all  would  not  do.  Their  very 
presence  was  ill-timed,  and  jarred 
upon  Catherine's  nerves. 

Did  instinct  whisper,  a  pair  of  de- 
populators  had  no  business  in  a  house 
with  multipliers  twain  ? 

The  breastplate  is  no  armor  against 
a  female  tongue  :  and  Catherine  ran 
infinite  pins   and  needles  of  speech 


332 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


'into  their:.  In  a  word,  when  Margaret 
came  down  stairs,  she  found  the 
kitchen  swept  of  heroes. 

Martin,  old  and  stiff,  had  retreated 
no  farther  than  the  street,  and  with 
the  honors  of  war :  for  lie  had  carried 
off  his  baggage,  a  stool,  and  sat  on  it 
in  the  air. 

Warfjaret  saw  he  was  out  in  the 
sun  :  but  was  not  aware  he  was  a 
fixture  in  that  luminar)-.  She  asked 
for  Denys.  "  Good,  kind  Dcnys  ;  he 
will  be  right  pleased  to  sec  mc  about 
again." 

Catherine,  wiping  a  bowl  with  now 
superlhious  vigor,  told  her  Denys  was 
gone  to  his  friends  in  Burgundy. 
"  And  high  time.  Hiis  n't  been 
anigh  them  this  three  years,  by  all  ac- 
counts." 

"  What,  gone  without  bidding  me 
forewcU  ?  "  said  Margaret,  opening 
two  tender  eyes  like  full-blown  vio- 
lets. 

Catherine  reddened.  For  this  new 
view  of  the  matter  set  her  conscience 
pricking  her. 

But  she  gave  a  little  toss,  and  said, 
"  O,  you  were  asleep  at  the  time  :  and 
I  would  not  have  you  wakened.'' 

"Poor  Denys,"  said  Margaret: 
and  the  dew  gathered  visibly  on  the 
open  violets. 

Catherine  saw  out  of  the  cor- 
ner of  her  eye,  and,  without  taking 
a  bit  of  open  notice,  slipped  off  and 
lavished  hospitality  and  tenderness  on 
the  surviving  depopulator. 

It  was  sudden  ;  and  Martin  old  and 
stiff  in  more  ways  than  one. 

"  No,  thank  you,  dame.  I  have 
got  used  to  out  o'  doors.  And  I  love 
not  changing  and  changing.  I  med- 
dle wi'  nobody  here ;  and  nobody 
meddles  Avi'  me." 

"  O  you  nasty,  cross  old  wretch !  " 
screamed  Catherine,  passing  in  a  mo- 
ment from  treacle  to  sharpest  vinegar. 
And  she  flounced  back  into  the  house. 

On  calm  reflection  she  had  a  little 
cry.  Then  she  half  reconciled  herself 
to  her  conduct  by  vowing  to  be  so 
kind  Margaret  should  never  miss  her 
plagues  of  soldiers.     But,  feeling  still 


a  little  uneasy,  she  dispersed  all  re- 
grets by  a  process  at  once  simij'ie  and 
sovereign. 

She  took  and  washed  the  child. 

From  liead  to  foot  she  washed  him 
in  tepid  water  ;  and  heroes,  and  their 
wrongs,  became  as  dust  in  an  ocean 
—  of  soap  and  water. 

While  this  celestial  ceremony  pro- 
ceeded, Margaret  could  not  keep  qui- 
et. She  hovered  round  the  fortunate 
performer.  She  nuist  have  an  appar- 
ent liand  in  it,  if  not  a  real.  She  put 
her  finger  into  the  water,  —  to  pave 
the  way  for  her  boy,  I  suppose;  for 
she  could  not  have  deceived  herself  so 
far  as  to  think  Catherine  would  allow 
her  to  settle  the  tem])erature.  During 
the  ablution  she  kneeled  down  oppo- 
site the  little  Gerard,  and  prattled  to 
him  with  amazing  fluency ;  taking 
care,  however,  not  to  articulate  like 
grown-up  people ;  for  liow  could  a 
cherub  understand  their  ridiculous 
pronunciation  ? 

"  I  wish  you  could  wasli  out  that," 
said  she,  fixing  her  eyes  on  the  little 
bov's  hand. 

''  What  1  " 

"  AVhat,  have  you  not  noticed  ?  on 
his  little  finger." 

Granny  looked,  and  there  was  a  lit- 
tle brown  mole. 

"  Eh  !  but  this  is  wonderful !  "  she 
cried.  "  Nature,  my  lass,  y'  are  strong, 
and  meddlesome  to  boot.  Ilast  no- 
ticed such  a  mark  on  some  one  else  1 
Tell  the  truth,  girl !  " 

"  What,  on  him  ?  Nay,  mother, 
not   I." 

"  AVcll,  then  he  has ;  and  on  the 
very  spot.  And  you  never  noticed 
that  much.  But,  dear  heart,  I  forgot ; 
you  hain't  known  him  from  child  to 
man  as  I  have.  I  have  had  him  hun- 
dreds o'  times  on  my  knees,  the  same 
as  this,  and  washed  him  from  top  to 
toe,  in  lu-warm  water."  And  she 
swelled  with  conscious  superiority ; 
and  Margaret  looked  meekly  up  to 
her  as  a  woman  beyond  competition. 

Catherine  looked  down  from  her 
dizzy  height,  and  moralized.  She 
differed  from  other  busybodies  in  tliis. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


333 


that  she  now  and  then  reflected :  not 
deeply,  or,  of  course,  I  should  take 
care  not  to  print  it. 

"  It  is  strange,"  said  she,  "  how 
things  come  round  and  about.  Life 
is  but  a  whirligig.  Leastways,  we 
poor  women,  our  lives  are  all  cut  up- 
on one  pattern.  Was  n't  I  for  wash- 
ing out  my  Gerard's  mole  in  his 
young  days  ?  '  0  fie !  here  's  a  foul 
blot,'  quo'  I ;  and  scrubbed  away  at 
it  I  did,  till  I  made  the  poor  wight 
cry ;  so  then  I  thought  't  was  time  to 
give  over.  And  now  says  you  to 
me,  '  Mother,'  says  you,  '  do  try  and 
wash  yon  out  o'  my  Gerard's  finger,' 
says  you.     Think  on  't !  " 

"  "Wash  it  out  ?  "  cried  Margaret ; 
"  I  would  n't  for  all  the  world.  Why 
it  is  the  sweetest  bit  in  his  little  dar- 
ling body.  1  '11  kiss  it  morn  and 
night  till  he  that  owned  it  first  comes 
back  to  us  three.  O,  bless  you,  my 
jewel  of  gold  and  silver,  for  being 
marked  like  your  own  daddy,  to  com- 
fort me." 

And  she  kissed  little  Gerard's  little 
mole  ;  but  she  could  not  stop  there  ; 
she  presently  had  him  sprawling  on 
her  lap,  and  kissing  his  back  all  over 
again  and  again,  and  seemed  to  wor- 
ry him  as  a  wolf  a  lamb ;  Catherine 
looking  on  and  smiling.  She  had 
seen  a  good  many  of  these  savage  on- 
slaughts in  her  day. 

And  this  little  sketch  indicates  the 
tenor  of  Margaret's  life  for  several 
months.  One  or  two  small  things 
occurred  to  her  during  that  time, 
which  must  be  told ;  but  I  reserve 
them,  since  one  string  will  serve  for 
many  glass  beads.  But,  while  her 
boy's  father  was  passing  through 
those  fearful  tempests  of  the  soul, 
ending  in  the  dead  monastic  calm,  her 
life  might  fairly  be  summed  in  one 
great  blissful  word,  — 

Maternity. 

You,  who  know  what  lies  in  that 
word,  enlarge  my  little  sketch,  and 
see  the  young  mother  nursing  and 
washing,  and  dressing  and  undress- 
ing, and  crowing  and  gambolling 
with  her  first-born  ;  then  swifter  than 


lightning  dart  your  eye  Into  Italy, 
and  see  the  cold  cloister ;  and  the 
monks  passing  like  ghosts,  eyes  down, 
hands  meekly  crossed  over  bosoms 
dead  to  earthly  feelings. 

One  of  these  cowled  ghosts  is  he, 
whose  return,  full  of  love,  and  youth, 
and  joy,  that  radiant  young  mother 
awaits. 

In  the  valley  of  Grindelwald  the 
traveller  has  on  one  side  the  perpen- 
dicular Alps,  all  rock,  ice,  and  ever- 
lasting snow,  towering  above  the 
clouds,  and  piercing  to  the  sky ;  on 
his  other  hand  little  every-day  slopes, 
but  green  as  emeralds,  and  studded 
with  cows,  and  pretty  cots,  and  life  ; 
whereas  those  lofty  neighbors  stand 
leafless,  lifeless,  inhuman,  sublime. 
Elsewhere  sweet  commonplaces  of  na- 
ture are  apt  to  pass  unnoticed ;  but, 
fronting  the  grim  Alps,  they  soothe, 
and  even  gently  strike  the  mind  by 
contrast  with  their  tremendous  oppo- 
sites.  Such,  in  their  way,  are  the  two 
halves  of  this  story,  rightly  looked  at ; 
on  the  Italian  side  rugged  adventure, 
strong  passion,  blasphemy,  vice,  pen- 
itence, pure  ice,  holy  snow,  soaring 
direct  at  heaven.  On  the  Dutch  side, 
all  on  a  humble  scale  and  womanish, 
but  ever  green.  And  as  a  pathway 
parts  the  ice  towers  of  Grindelwald, 
aspiring  to  the  sky,  from  its  little  sun- 
ny braes,  so  here  is  but  a  page  between 
"  the  Cloister  and  the  Hearth." 


CHAPTER  LXXIV. 

TuE  new  pope  favored  the  Domin- 
ican order.  The  convent  received  a 
message  from  the  Vatican,  requiring 
a  capable  friar  to  teach  at  the  univer- 
sity of  Basle.  Now  Clement  was  the 
very  monk  for  this  :  well  versed  in 
language,  and  in  his  worldly  days 
had  attended  the  lectures  of  Guarini 
the  younger.  His  visit  to  England 
was  therefore  postponed,  though  not 
resigned  ;  and  meantime  he  was  sent 
to  Basle  :  but,  not  being  wanted  there 


834 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


for  tliree  montlis,  he  was  to  preach  on 
the  road. 

He  passed  out  of  the  northern  gate 
with  his  eyes  lowei'ed,  and  the  whole 
man  wrapped  in  pious  contempla- 
tion. 

O,  if  we  could  paint  a  mind  and  its 
story,  what  a  walking  fresco  was  this 
barefooted  friar ! 

llojiefiil,  happy  love,  bereavement, 
despair,  impiety,  vice,  suicide,  re- 
morse, religious  despondency,  peni- 
tence, death  to  the  world,  resigna- 
tion. 

And  all  in  twelve  short  months. 

And  now  the  traveller  was  on  foot 
again.  But  all  was  changed  ;  no  per- 
ilous adventures  now.  The  very 
thieves  and  robbers  bowed  to  the 
ground  before  liim,  and,  instead  of 
robbing  him,  forced  stolen  money  on 
him,  and  begged  his  prayers. 

This  journey,  therefore,  furnished 
few  picturesque  incidents.  I  have, 
however,  some  readers  to  think  of, 
who  care  little  for  melodrama,  and 
expect  a  quiet  peep  at  what  jiasses 
inside  a  man.  To  such  students 
things  undramatic  are  often  vocal, 
denoting  the  progress  of  a  mind. 

The  tirst  Sunday  of  Clement's  jour- 
ney was  marked  by  this.  He  prayed 
for  the  soul  of  Margaret.  He  had 
never  done  so  before.  Not  that  her 
eternal  welfare  was  not  deai-er  to  him 
than  anything  on  earth.  It  was  his 
humility.  The  terrible  impieties  that 
burst  from  him  on  the  news  of  her 
death  horrified  my  well-disposed  read- 
ers :  but  not  as  on  reflection  they 
horrified  him  who  had  uttered  them. 
For  a  long  time  during  his  novitiate 
he  was  oppressed  with  religious  de- 
spair. He  thought  he  must  have 
committed  that  sin  against  the  Holy 
Spirit  which  dooms  the  soul  forever. 
By  degrees  that  dark  cloud  cleared 
away,  Anselmo  juvante :  but  deep 
self-abasement  remained.  He  felt  his 
own  salvation  insecure,  and  moreover 
thought  it  would  be  mocking  heaven, 
should  he,  the  deeply  stained,  pray  for 
a  soul  so  innocent,  comparatively,  as 
Margaret's.   So  he  used  to  coax  good 


Anselm  and  another  kindly  monk  to 
pray  for  her.  They  did  not  refuse, 
nor  do  it  by  halves.  In  general  the 
good  old  monks  (and  thei"e  were  good, 
bad,  and  indifferent,  in  every  convent) 
had  a  pure  and  tender  affection  for 
their  younger  brethren,  which,  in 
truth,  was  not  of  this  world. 

Clement  then,  having  preached  on 
Sunday  morning  in  a  small  Italian 
town,  and  being  mightily  carried  on- 
ward, was  greatly  encouraged ;  and 
that  day  a  balmy  sense  of  God's  for- 
giveness and  love  descended  on  him. 
And  he  prayed  for  the  welfare  of 
Margaret's  soul.  And  from  that  hour 
this  became  his  daily  habit,  and  the 
one  purified  tie  that  by  memory  con- 
nected his  heart  with  earth. 

For  his  family  were  to  him  as  if 
they  had  never  been. 

The  Church  would  not  share  with 
earth.  Nor  could  even  the  Church 
cure  the  great  love  without  annihilat- 
ing the  smaller  ones. 

During  most  of  this  journey,  Clem- 
ent rarely  felt  any  spring  of  life  with- 
in him,  but  when  he  was  in  the  pul- 
pit. The  other  exee])tions  were,  when 
he  happened  to  relieve  some  fellow- 
creature. 

A  young  man  was  tarantula  bit- 
ten, or  perliaps,  like  many  more,  fan- 
cied it.  Fancy  or  reality,  he  had  been 
for  two  days  without  sleep,  and  in 
most  extraordinary  convulsions,  leap- 
ing, twisting,  and  beating  the  walls. 
The  village  musicians  had  only  ex- 
cited him  worse  with  their  music. 
Exhaustion  and  death  followed  the 
disease,  when  it  gained  such  a  head. 
Clement  passed  by  and  learned  what 
was  the  matter.  He  sent  for  a  psal- 
tery, and  tried  the  patient  with  sooth- 
ing melodies  ;  but,  if  the  other  tunes 
maddened  him,  Clement's  seemed  to 
crush  him.  He  groaned  and  moaned 
under  them,  and  grovelled  on  the 
floor.  At  last  the  friar  observed  that 
at  intervals  his  lips  kept  going.  Ho 
applied  his  ear,  and  found  the  patient 
was  whispering  a  tune ;  and  a  very 
.singular  one  that  had  no  existence. 
He  learned  this  tune  and  played  it. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


335 


The  patient's  face  brightened  amaz- 
ingly. He  marched  about  the  room 
on  the  light  fantastic  toe,  enjoying  it ; 
and,  when  Clement's  fingers  ached 
nearly  oft"  with  playing  it,  he  had  the 
satisfaction  of  seeing  the  young  nnin 
sink  complacently  to  sleep  to  this  lul- 
laby, the  strange  creation  of  iiis  own 
mind  ;  for  it  seems  he  was  no  musi- 
cian, and  never  composed  a  tune  be- 
fore or  after.  This  sleep  saved  his 
life.  And  Clement,  after  teaching 
the  tunc  to  another,  in  case  it  should 
be  wanted  again,  wcTit  fonvard  with 
his  heart  a  little  warmer.  On  another 
occa.sion  he  found  a  mob  hauling  a 
decently  dressed  man  along,  who 
struggled  and  vociferated,  but  in  a 
strange  language.  This  person  had 
walked  into  their  town  erect  and 
sprightly,  waving  a  mulberry  branch 
over  his  head.  Thereupon  the  natives 
first  gazed  stupidly,  not  believing  their 
eyes,  then  pounced  on  him  and  dragged 
him  before  the  podesta. 

Clement  went  with  them  :  but  on 
the  wa\',  drew  quietly  near  tlie  pris- 
oner and  spoke  to  him  in  Italian  ;  Jio 
answer.  In  French,  German,  Dutch  ; 
no  answer.  Then  the  man  tried  Clem- 
ent in  tolerable  Latin,  but  with  a 
sharpish  accent.  He  said  he  was  an 
Englishman,  and,  oppressed  with  the 
heat  of  Italy,  had  taken  a  bough  off 
the  nearest  tree,  to  save  his  head. 
"  In  m}-  country,  anybody  is  welcome 
to  what  grows  on  the  highway.  Con- 
found the  fools ;  I  am  ready  to  pay 
for  it.  But  here  is  all  Italy  up  in 
arms  about  a  twig  and  a  handful  of 
leaves." 

The  pig-headed  jiodesta  would  have 
sent  the  dogged  islander  to  prison  : 
but  Clement  mediated,  and  with  some 
difUculty  made  the  prisoner  compre- 
hend that  silkworms,  and  by  conse- 
quence mulberry  leaves,  were  sacred, 
being  under  the  wing  of  the  Sover- 
eign, and  his  source  of  income  ;  and 
urged  on  the  podesta  that  ignorance 
of  his  mulberry  laws  was  natural  in  a 
distant  country,  where  the  very  tree 
perhaps  was  unknown.  The  opinion- 
ativc  islander  turned  the  still  vibrating 
15 


scale,  by  pulling  out  along  purse,  and 
repeating  his  original  theory,  that 
the  whole  question  was  mercantile. 
"  Quid  damni  ?  "  said  he.  "  Die  ;  et 
cito  solvam."  The  podesta  snuf!ed 
the  gold;  fined  him  a  ducat  for  the 
Duke,  about  the  value  of  the  whole 
tree  ;  and  pouched  the  coin. 

Tlie  Englishman  shook  off  his  ire 
the  moment  he  was  liberated,  and 
laughed  heartily  at  the  whole  thing  : 
but  was  very  grateful  to  Clement. 

"  You  are  too  good  for  this  hole  of  a 
country,  father,"  said  he.  "  Come  to 
England  !  That  is  the  only  place  in 
the  world.  I  was  an  uneasy  fool  to 
leave  it,  and  wander  among  mulberries 
and  their  idiots.  I  am  a  Kentish  squire, 
and  educated  at  Cambridge  Universi- 
ty. My  name  it  is  Rolfe,  my  place 
Betshanger.  The  man  and  the  house 
are  both  at  your  service.  Come  over 
and  stay  till  domesday.  Wc  sit  down 
forty  to  dinner  every  day  at  Betshan- 
ger. One  more  or  one  less  at  the 
board  will  not  be  seen.  You  shall 
end  your  days  with  me  and  my  heirs 
if  you  will.  Come  now  !  What  an 
Englishman  says  he  means."  And 
he  gave  him  a  great  hearty  grip  of  the 
hand  to  confirm  it. 

"  I  will  visit  thee  some  day,  my 
son,"  said  Clement ;  "  but  not  to 
weary  thy  hospitality." 

The  Englishman  then  begged 
Clement  to  shrive  him.  "  I  know  not 
what  will  become  of  my  soul,"  said 
he.  "  I  live  like  a  heathen  since  I 
left  England." 

Clement  consented  gladly,  and 
soon  the  islander  was  on  his  knees  to 
him  by  the  roadside,  confessing  the 
last  month's  sins. 

Finding  him  so  ])ious  a  son  of  the 
Church,  Clement  let  him  know  he 
was  really  coming  to  England.  He 
then  asked  him  whether  it  was  true 
that  cotmtry  was  overrun  with  Lol- 
lards and  WicklifRtes. 

The  other  colored  up  a  little. 
"  There  be  black  sheep  in  every 
land,"  said  he.  Then  after  some  re- 
flection he  said,  gravely  :  "  Holy  fa- 
ther, hear  the  truth  about  these  here- 


836 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


tics.  None  are  better  disposed  to- 
ward Holy  Church  than  we  English. 
But  we  are  ourselves,  and  by  our- 
selves. We  love  our  own  ways,  and, 
above  all,  our  own  tongue.  The 
Normans  could  conquer  our  bill-hooks, 
but  not  our  tongues  ;  and  hard  they 
tried  it  for  many  a  long  year  by  law 
and  proclamation.  Our  good  foreign 
priests  utter  God  to  plain  English 
folks  in  Latin,  or  in  some  French  or 
Italian  lingo,  like  the  bleating  of  a 
sheep.  Then  come  the  fox  Wickliff 
and  his  crew,  and  read  him  out  of 
his  own  book  in  ])laiii  English,  that 
all  men's  hearts  warm  to.  Who  can 
withstand  this  ?  God  forgive  me,  I 
believe  the  English  would  turn  deaf 
ears  to  St.  Peter  himself,  spoke  he 
not  to  them  in  the  tongue  their  moth- 
ers sowed  in  their  cars  and  their 
hearts  along  with  mothers'  kisses." 
He  added  hastily  :  "  I  say  not  this  for 
myself ;  I  am  Cambridge-bred ;  and 
good  words  come  not  amiss  to  me  in 
Latin  ;  i)ut  for  the  people  in  general. 
Clavis  ad  corda  Anglorum  est  lingua 
matema." 

"  My  son,"  said  Clement,  "  blessed 
be  the  hour  I  met  thee  ;  for  thy  M'ords 
are  sober  and  wise.  But,  alas  !  how 
shall  I  learn  your  English  tongue  ? 
No  book  have  I." 

"  I  would  give  you  my  book  of 
hours,  father.  'T  is  in  English  and 
Latin,  cheek  by  jowl.  But,  then, 
what  would  become  of  my  poor  soul, 
wanting  my  '  hours '  in  a  strange 
land  ?  Stay,  you  arc  a  holy  man, 
and  I  am  an  honest  one ;  let  us  make 
a  bargain  ;  you  to  ])ray  for  me  every 
day  for  two  months,  and  I  to  give 
you  my  book  of  hours.  Here  it  is. 
What  say  you  to  that  ?  "  And  his 
eyes  sparkled,  and  he  was  all  on  fire 
with  mercantility. 

Clement  smiled  gently  at  this  trait ; 
and  quietly  detached  a  MS.  from  his 

firdle,  and  showed  him  that  it  was  in 
latin  and  Italian. 
"  See,  my  son,"  said  he,  "  Heaven 
hath  foreseen  our  several  needs,  and 
given  us  the  means  to  satisfy  them : 
let  us  change  books ;  and,  my  dear 


son,  I  will  give  thee  my  poor  prayers 
and  welcome,  not  sell  them  thee.  I 
love  no  religious  bargains." 

The  islander  was  delighted.  "  So 
shall  I  learn  the  Italian  tongue  with- 
out risk  to  my  eternal  weal.  Near  is 
my  purse,  but  nearer  is  my  soul." 

He  forced  money  on  Clement.  In 
vain  the  friar  told  him  it  was  con- 
trary to  his  vow  to  carry  more  of  that 
than  was  barely  necessary. 

"  Lay  it  out  for  the  good  of  the 
Church  and  of  my  soul,"  said  the 
islander.  "  I  ask  you  not  to  keep  it, 
but  take  it  you  must  and  sh.all." 
And  he  grasped  Clement's  hand 
warmly  again ;  and  Clement  kissed 
him  on  the  brow,  and  blessed  him, 
and  they  went  eacli  his  way. 

About  a  mile  from  where  they 
parted,  Clement  found  two  tired  way- 
farers lying  in  the  deep  shade  of  a 
great  chestnut-tree,  one  of  a  thick 
grove  the  road  skirted.  Near  the 
men  was  a  little  cart,  and  in  it  a 
printing-press,  rude  and  clumsy  as  a 
vine-press.  A  jaded  mule  was  har- 
nessed to  the  cart. 

And  so  Clement  stood  face  to  face 
with  his  old  enemy. 

And  as  he  eyed  it,  and  the  honest, 
blue-eyed  faces  of  the  weary  crafts- 
men, he  looked  back  as  on  a  dream 
at  the  bitterness  he  had  once  felt  to- 
wards this  machine.  He  looked 
kindly  down  on  them,  and  said, 
softly  :  — 

"  Sweynheim ! " 

The  men  started  to  their  feet. 

"Pannartz  ! " 

They  scuttled  into  the  wood,  and 
were  seen  no  more. 

Clement  was  amazed,  and  stood 
puzzling  himself. 

Presently  a  face  peeped  from  be- 
hind a  tree. 

Clement  addressed  it.  "  What 
fear  ye  ?  " 

A  quavering  voice  replied  :  "  Say, 
rather,  by  what  magic  you,  a  stranger, 
can  call  us  by  our  names  !  I  never 
clapt  eyes  on  you  till  now." 

"  O  superstition  !  I  know  ye,  as 
all  good  workmen  are  known,  —  by 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


837 


your  works.  Come  hither  and  I  will 
tell  yc." 

They  advanced  gingerly  from  dif- 
ferent sides ;  each  regulating  his  ad- 
vance by  the  other's. 

"  My  children,"  said  Clement,  "  I 
saw  a"  Lactantius  in  Rome,  ])rintcd 
by  Sweynheim  and  Pannartz,  dis- 
ciples of  Fust." 

"D'ye  hear  that,  Pannartz  ■?  our 
work  has  s^otten  to  Rome  already." 

"  By  your  blue  eyes  and  tlaxen 
hair  I  wist  ye  were  Germans  ;  and 
the  printing-press  spoke  for  itself 
Who  then  should  ye  be  but  Fust's 
disciples,  Pannartz  and  Sweynheim  ?  " 

The  honest  Germans  were  now  as- 
tonished that  tiiey  had  suspected 
magic  in  so  simple  a  matter. 

"  The  good  father  hath  his  wits 
about  him,  that  is  all,"  said  Pan- 
nartz. 

"  Ay,"  said  Sweynheim,  "  and  with 
those  wits  would  he  could  tell  us 
how  to  get  this  tired  beast  to  the  next 
town." 

"  Yea,"  said  Sweynheim,  "  and 
where  to  find  money  to  pay  for  his 
meat  and  ours  when  we  get  there." 

"  I  will  try,"  said  Clement.  "  Free 
the  mule  of  the  cart,  and  of  all  har- 
ness but  the  bare  halter." 

This  was  done,  and  the  animal  im- 
mediately lay  down  and  rolled  on  his 
back  in  the  dust  like  a  kitten.  Whilst 
he  was  thus  employed,  Clement  as- 
sured them  he  would  rise  np  a  new 
mule.  "  His  Creator  hath  taught 
him  this  art  to  refresh  himself,  which 
the  nobler  horse  knoweth  not.  Now, 
with  regard  to  money,  know  that  a 
worthy  Englishman  hath  intrusted 
me  with  a  certain  sum  to  bestow 
in  charity.  To  whom  can  I  better 
give  a  stranger's  money  than  to 
strangers  ?  'Take  it,  then,  and  be 
kind  to  some  Englishman  or  other 
stranger  in  his  need  :  and  may  all 
nations  learn  to  love  one  another  one 
day." 

The  tears  stood  in  the  honest  work- 
men's eyes.  They  took  the  money 
with  heartfelt  thanks. 

"  It  is  your  nation  we  arc  bound  to 


thank  and  bless,  good  father,  if  we 
but  knew  it." 

"  My  nation  is  the  Church." 

Clement  was  then  for  bidding  them 
farewell,  but  the  honest  fellows  im- 
plored him  to  wait  a  little ;  they  had 
no  silver  nor  gold,  but  they  had  some- 
thing  they  could  give  their  benefactor 
They  took  the  press  out  of  the  cart, 
and,  while  Clement  fed  the  mule,  they 
bustled  about,  now  on  the  white  hot 
road,  now  in  the  deep  cool  shade,  now 
half  in  and  half  out,  and  presently 
printed  a  quarto  sheet  of  eight  pages, 
which  was  already  set  up.  They  had 
not  type  enough  to  print  two  sheets 
at  a  time.  When,  after  the  slower 
preliminaries,  the  printed  sheet  was 
pulled  all  in  a  moment,  Clement  was 
amazed  in  turn. 

"  What,  are  all  these  words  really 
fast  upon  the  paper  ? "  said  he.  "  Is  it 
verily  certain  they  will  not  go  as  swiftly 
as  they  came  ?  And  you  took  me  for  a 
magician !  'T  is  '  Augustine  de  civi- 
tate  Dei.'  My  sons,  you  carry  here 
the  very  wings  of  knowledge.  O, 
never  abuse  this  great  craft !  Print 
no  ill  books  !  They  would  fly  abroad 
countless  as  locusts,  and  lay  'waste 
men's  souls." 

The  workmen  said  they  woul\ 
sooner  put  their  hands  under  the 
screw  than  so  abuse  their  goodly 
craft. 

And  so  they  parted. 

There  is  nothing  but  meeting  and 
parting  in  this  world. 

At  a  town  in  Tuscany  the  holy 
friar  had  a  sudden  and  strange  ren- 
contre with  the  past.  He  fell  in  with 
one  of  those  motley  assemblages  of 
patricians  and  plebeians,  piety  and 
profligacy,  "  a  company  of  pilgrims  "  ; 
a  subject  too  well  painted  by  others 
for  me  to  go  and  daub. 

They  were  in  an  immense  bam 
belonging  to  the  inn.  Clement,  dusty 
and  wearied,  and  no  lover  of  idle 
gossip,  sat  in  a  corner  studying  the 
Englishman's  hours,  and  making 
them  out  as  much  by  his  own  Dutch 
as  by  the  Latin  version. 

Presently     a    servant    brotight    a 


338 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


bucket  half  full  of  water,  and  put  it 
down  at  his  feet.  A  female  sen'ant 
followed  with  two  towels.  And  then 
a  woman  came  forward,  and,  crossing 
htrself,  kneeled  down  without  a  word 
at  the  bucket-side,  removed  her  sleeves 
entirely,  and  motioned  to  him  to  put 
his  feet  into  the  water.  It  was  some 
lady  of  rank  doing  penance.  She 
wore  a  mask  scarce  an  inch  broad, 
but  ettectual.  Moreover,  she  handled 
the  friar's  feet  more  delicately  than 
those  do  who  are  born  to  such  of- 
fices. 

These  penances  were  not  uncom- 
mon ;  and  Clement,  though  he  had 
little  faith  in  this  lorm  of  contrition, 
received  the  services  of  the  incognita 
as  a  matter  of  course.  But  presently 
she  sighed  deeply,  and,  with  her  heart- 
felt sig4i  and  her  head  bent  low  over 
her  menial  office,  she  seemed  so  bowed 
with  penitence,  that  he  jiitied  her,  and 
said,  calmly  but  gently,  "  Can  I 
aught  for  your  soul's  weal,  my  daugh- 
ter ?  " 

She  shook  her  head  with  a  f\iint 
sob.  "  Naught,  holy  father,  naught : 
only  to  hear  the  sin  of  iier  who  is 
most'unworthy  to  touch  thy  holy  feet. 
'T  is  part  of  my  jjcnance  to  tell  sin- 
less men  how  vile  I  am." 

"  Speak,  my  daughter." 

"  Father,"  said  the  lady,  bending 
lower  and  lower,  "  these  hands  of  mine 
look  white,  but  they  are  stained  with 
blood,  —  the  blood  of  the  man  I  loved. 
Alas !  vou  withdraw  3'our  foot.  Ah 
me  !  What  shall  I  'do  ?  All  holy 
things  shrink  from  me." 

"  Culpa  mea  !  culpa  mea  ! "  said 
Clement,  eagerly.  "  My  daughter,  it 
was  an  unworthy  movement  of  earth- 
ly weakness,  for  which  /  shall  do  pen- 
ance. Judge  not  the  Church  by  her 
feebler  servants.  Not  her  foot,  but 
her  bosom,  is  offered  to  thee,  repent- 
ing truly.  Take  courage,  then,  and 
purge  thy  conscience  of  his  load." 

On  this  the  lady,  in  a  trembling 
whisjier,  and  hurriedly,  and  cringing 
a  little,  as  if  she  feared  the  Church 
would  strike  lier  bodily  for  what  she 
had  done,  made  this  confession. 


"  He  was  a  stranger,  and  base-bom, 
but  beautiful  as  Spring,  and  wise  be- 
yond his  years.  1  loved  him.  I  had 
not  the  prudence  to  conceal  my  love. 
Nobles  courted  me.  1  ne'er  thought 
one  of  humble  birth  could  reject  me. 
I  showed  him  my  heart ;  {),  shame  of 
my  sex  !  He  drew  back :  yet  he  ad- 
mired me,  but  innocently.  He  loved 
another  :  and  he  was  constant.  I  re- 
sorted to  a  woman's  wiles.  They 
availed  not.  I  borrowed  the  wicked- 
ness of  men,  and  threatened  his  life, 
and  to  tell  his  true  lover  he  died  false 
to  her.  Ah !  you  shrink  ;  your  foot 
trembles.  Am  I  not  a  monster  1 
Then  he  wept  and  prayed  to  me  for 
mercy;  then  my  good  angel  helped 
me ;  1  bade  him  leave  Kome.  Gerard, 
Gerard,  why  did  you  not  obey  me^ 
I  thought  he  Avas  gone.  But  two 
months  after  this  I  met  him.  Never 
shall  I  forget  it.  I  was  descending 
the  Tiber  in  my  galley,  when  he  came 
up  it  with  a  gay  company,  and  at  his 
side  a  woman  beautiful  as  an  angel, 
but  bold  and  bad.  That  woman 
claimed  me  aloud  for  her  rival.  Trai- 
tor and  hy])ocrite,  he  had  exposed  mo 
to  her,  and  to  all  the  loose  tongues  in 
Rome.  In  terror  and  revenge  I  hired 
—  a  bravo.  When  he  was  gone  on 
his  bloody  errand,  I  wavered  too  late. 
The  dagger  I  had  hired  struck.  He 
never  came  back  to  his  lodgings.  He 
was  dead.  Alas !  perhaps  he  was  not 
so  much  to  blame ;  none  had  ever  cast 
his  name  in  my  teeth.  His  poor  body 
is  not  found ;  or  I  should  kiss  its 
wounds  ;  and  slay  myself  tipon  it. 
All  around  his  very  name  seems  si- 
lent as  the  grave,  to  which  this  mur- 
derous hand  has  sent  him."  (Clem- 
ent's eye  was  drawn  by  her  move- 
ment. He  recognized  her  shapely 
arm,  and  soft  white  hand. )  "  And  O, 
he  was  so  young  to  die.  A  poor 
thoughtless  boy,  that  had  fallen  a  vic- 
tim to  that  bad  woman's  arts,  and  she 
had  made  him  tell  her  everything. 
Monster  of  cruelty,  what  penance 
can  avail  mel  0  holy  father,  what 
shall  I  do?" 

Clement's  lips    moved  in  prjiyer, 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


339 


but  he  -was  silent.  He  could  not  see 
his  duty  clear. 

Then  she  took  his  feet  and  bcr:;an  to 
dry  them.  She  rested  his  foot  upon 
her  soft  arm,  and  pressed  it  with  the 
towel  so  jjently  she  seemed  incapable 
of  hurting  a  fly.  Yet  her  lips  had 
just  told  another  story,  and  a  true  one. 

While  Clement  was  still  praying 
for  wisdom,  a  tear  fell  upon  his  foot. 
It  decided  him.  "  My  daughter," 
said  he,  "  I  myself  have  been  a  great 
sinner." 

"  You,  father  1 " 

"  I ;  quite  as  great  a  sinner  as  thou  ; 
though  not  in  the  same  way.  The 
Devil  has  gins  and  snares,  as  well  as 
traps.  But  penitence  softened  my  im- 
pious heart,  and  then  gratitude  re- 
moulded it.  Therefore,  seeing  you 
penitent,  I  hope  you  can  be  grateful 
to  Him  who  has  been  more  merciful 
to  you  than  you  have  to  your  fellow- 
creature.  Daughter,  the  Church  sends 
you  comfort." 

"  Comfort  to  me  ?  ah  !  never !  un- 
less it  can  raise  my  victim  from  the 
dead." 

"  Take  this  crucifix  in  thy  hand, 
fix  thine  eyes  on  it,  and  listen  to  me," 
was  all  the  reply. 

"  Yes,  father ;  but  let  me  thorough- 
ly dry  your  feet  first :  't  is  ill  sitting 
in  wet  feet :  and  you  are  the  holiest 
man  of  all  whose  feet  I  have  washed. 
I  know  it  by  your  voice." 

"  Woman,  I  am  not.  As  for  my 
feet,  they  can  wait  their  turn.  Obey 
thou  me ! " 

"  Yes,  father,"  said  the  lady,  hum- 
bly. But  with  a  woman's  evasive 
pertinacity  she  wreathed  one  towel 
swiftly  round  tlie  foot  she  was  drying, 
and  placed  his  other  foot  on  the  dry 
napkin  ;  then  obeyed  his  command. 

And,  as  she  bowed  over  the  cruci- 
fix, the  low,  solemn  tones  of  the  friar 
fell  upon  her  ear,  and  his  words  soon 
made  her  whole  body  cjuiver  with  va- 
rious emotions,  in  quick  succession. 

"  My  daughter,  he  you  murdered, 
—  in  intent  —  was  one  Gerard,  a 
Hollander.  lie  loved  a  creature,  as 
men  should  love  none  but  their  Re- 


deemer and  his  Church.  Heaven 
chastised  him.  A  letter  came  to 
Rome.     She  Mas  dead." 

"  Poor  Gerard  !  Poor  Margaret !  " 
moaned  the  penitent. 

Clement's  voice  fiiltered  at  this  a 
moment.  But  soon,  by  a  strong  ef- 
fort, he  recovered  all  his  calmness. 

"  His  feeble  nature  yielded  body 
and  soul  to  the  blow.  He  was 
stricken  down  with  fever.  He  revived 
only  to  rebel  against  Heaven.  He 
said,  '  There  is  no  God.'  " 

"  Poor,  poor,  Gerard  !  " 

"  Poor  Gerard  ?  thou  feeble,  foolish 
woman  !  Nay,  wicked,  impious  Ge- 
rard. He  plunged  into  vice,  and 
soiled  his  eternal  jewel :  those  you 
met  him  with  were  his  daily  compan- 
ions :  but  know,  rash  creature,  that 
the  seeming  woman  you  took  to  be 
his  leman  was  but  a  boy,  dressed  in 
woman's  habits  to  flout  the  others,  a 
fair  boy  called  Andrea.  What  that 
Andrea  said  to  thee  I  know  not ;  but 
be  sure  neither  he,  nor  am/  layman, 
knows  thy  folly.  This  Gerard,  rebel 
against  Heaven,  Avas  no  traitor  to 
thee,  unworthy." 

The  lady  moaned  like  one  in  bod- 
ily agony,  and  the  crucifix  began  to 
tremble  in  her  trembling  hands. 

"  Courage  !  "  said  Clement.  "  Com- 
fort is  at  hand. 

"  From  crime  he  fell  into  despair, 
and,  bent  on  destroying  his  soul,  he 
stood  one  night  by  Tiber,  resolved  on 
suicide.  He  saw  one  watching  him. 
It  was  a  bravo." 

"  Holy  saints  !  " 

"  He  begged  the  bravo  to  dispatch 
him,  he  offered  him  all  his  money,  to 
slay  him  body  and  soul.  The  bravo 
would  not.  Then  this  desperate  sin- 
ner, not  softened  even  by  that  refusal, 
flung  himself  into  Tiber." 

"Ah!" 

"And  the  assassin  saved  his  life. 
Thou  hadst  chosen  for  the  task  Lo- 
dovico,  husband  of  Teresa,  whom  this 
Gerard  had  saved  at  sea,  her  and  her 
infant  child." 

"  He  lives  !  he  lives  !  he  lives  I  1 
um  faint." 


340 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


The  friar  took  the  crucifix  from 
her  hands,  fearing  it  might  fall.  A 
shower  of  tears  relieved  her.  The 
friar  gave  her  time ;  then  continued, 
calmly  :  "  Ay,  he  lives  ;  thanks  to  thee 
and  thy  wickedness,  guided  to  his 
eternal  good  hy  an  almighty  and  all- 
merciful  hand.  Thou  art  his  greatest 
earthly  benefactor." 

"  Where  is  he  1  where  1  where?  " 

"  What  is  that  to  thee  1  " 

"  Only  to  see  him  alive.  To  beg 
him  on  my  knees  forgive  me.  I  swear 
to  you  I  will  never  presume  again 
to —  How  could  I  ?  He  knows  all. 
O,  shame !     Father,  does  he  know  1 " 

"  All." 

"  Then  never  will  I  meet  his  eye  ; 
I  should  sink  into  the  earth.  But  I 
would  repair  my  crime.  I  would 
watch  his  life  unseen.  He  shall  rise 
in  the  world,  whence  I  so  nearly 
thrust  him,  poor  soul ;  the  Caesare, 
my  family,  are  all-powerful  in  Rome; 
and  I  am  near  their  head." 

"  My  daughter,"  said  Clement, 
coldly,  "  he  you  call  Gerard  needs 
nothing  man  can  do  for  him.  Saved 
by  a  miracle  from  double  death,  he 
has  left  the  world,  and  taken  refuge 
from  sin  and  folly  in  the  bosom  of 
the  Church." 

"  A  priest  ?  " 

"  A  priest  and  a  friar." 

"  A  friar  ?  Then  you  arc  not  his 
confessor  ?  Yet  you  know  all.  That 
gentle  voice  !  " 

She  raised  her  head  slowly,  and 
peered  at  him  through  her  mask. 

The  next  moment  she  uttered  a 
faint  shriek,  and  lay  with  her  brow 
upon  his  bare  feet. 


CHAPTER  LXXV. 

Clement  sighed.  He  hegan  to 
doubt  whether  he  had  taken  the 
wisest  course  with  a  creature  so  pas- 
sionate. 

But,  young  as  he  was,  he  had  al- 
ready learned  many  lessons  of  eccle- 
Biastical  wisdom.    For  one  thing  he 


had  been  taught  to  pause ;  i  e.  in 
certain  difficulties,  neither  to  do  nor 
to  say  anything,  imtil  the  matter 
should  clear  itself  a  little. 

He  therefore  held  his  peace  and 
prayed  for  wisdom. 

All  he  did  was  gently  to  withdraw 
his  foot. 

But  his  penitent  flung  her  arms 
round  it  with  a  piteous  cry,  and  held 
it  convulsively,  and  wept  over  it. 

And  now  the  agony  of  shame,  as 
well  as  penitence,  she  was  in,  showed 
itself  by  the  bright  red  that  crept  over 
her  very  throat,  as  she  lay  quivering 
at  his  feet. 

"  My  daughter,"  said  Clement, 
gently,  "  take  courage.  Torment  thy- 
self no  more  about  this  Gerard,  who 
is  not.  As  for  me,  I  am  brother 
Clement,  whom  Heaven  hath  sent  to 
thee  this  day  to  comfort  thee,  and 
help  thee  save  thy  soul.  Thou  hast 
made  me  thy  confessor.  I  claim, 
then,  thine  obedience." 

"  0  yes,"  sobbed  the  penitent. 

"  Leave  this  pilgrimage,  and  in- 
stant return  to  Rome.  Penitence 
abroad  is  little  worth.  There  where 
we  live  lie  the  temptations  we  must 
defeat,  or  perish  ;  not  fly  in  search  of 
others  more  showy,  but  less  lethal. 
Easy  to  wash  the  feet  of  strangers, 
masked  ourselves.  Hard  to  be  merely 
meek  and  charitable  with  those  about 
us." 

"I  '11  never,  never  lay  finger  on  her 
again." 

"  Nay,  I  speak  not  of  servants 
only,  but  of  dependants,  kinsmen, 
friends.  This  be  thy  penance;  the 
last  thing  at  night,  and  the  first  thing 
after  matins,  call  to  mind  thy  sin, 
and  God  his  goodness ;  and  so  be 
humble,  and  gentle  to  the  faults  of 
those  around  thee.  The  world  it 
courts  the  rich ;  but  seek  thou  the 
poor  :  not  beggars  ;  these  for  the  most 
are  neither  honest  nor  truly  poor. 
But  rather  find  out  those  who  blush 
to  seek  thee,  yet  need  thee  sore.  Giv- 
ing to  them  shalt  lend  to  heaven 
Marry  a  good  son  of  the  Church." 

"Me  ?     I  will  never  marrv." 


Till;   CLOISTKR   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


341 


"  Thou  wilt  marry  within  the  year. 
I  do  entreat  and  command  tiiec  to 
marry  one  that  feareth  God.  For 
thou  art  very  clay.  Mated  ill  thou 
shalt  be  naught.  But  wedding  a 
worthy  husband  thou  mayest,  Dei 
gratia,  live  a  pious  princess,  ay,  and 
die  a  saint." 

"IV 

"  Thou." 

He  then  desired  her  to  rise  and  go 
about  the  good  work  he  had  set  her. 

She  rose  to  her  knees,  and,  remov- 
ing her  mask,  cast  an  eloquent  look 
upon  him,  then  lowered  her  eyes 
meekly. 

"  I  will  obey  you  as  I  would  an  an- 
gel. How  happy  I  am,  yet  unhappy ; 
for  O,  my  heart  tells  me  I  shall  never 
look  on  you  again.  I  will  not  go  till 
I  have  dried  your  feet." 

"  It  needs  not.  I  have  excused 
thee  this  bootless  penance." 

"  'T  is  no  penance  to  mc.  Ah  ! 
you  do  not  forgive  me,  if  you  will  not 
let  me  dry  your  poor  feet." 

"  So  be  it  then,"  said  Clement,  re- 
signedly; and  thought  to  himself, 
"Levins  quid  fcemina." 

But  these  weak  creatures,  that 
gravitate  towards  the  small,  as  heav- 
enly bodies  towards  the  great,  have 
yet  their  own  flashes  of  angelic  intelli- 
gence. 

When  the  princess  had  dried  the 
friar's  feet,  she  looked  at  him  Avith 
tears  in  her  beautiful  eyes,  and  mur- 
mured with  singular  tenderness  and 
goodness  :  — 

"  I  will  have  masses  said  for  her 
soul.     May  I  ?  "  she  added,  timidly. 

This  brought  a  faint  blush  into  the 
monk's  cheek,  and  moistened  his  cold 
blue  eye.  It  came  so  suddenly  from 
one  lie  was  just  rating  so  low. 

"  It  is  a  gracious  thought,"  he  said. 
"  Do  as  thou  wilt :  often  such  acts 
fall  back  on  the  doer  like  blessed  dew. 
I  am  thy  confessor,  not  hers  ;  thine 
is  the  soul  I  must  now  do  my  all  to 
save,  or  woe  be  to  my  own.  My 
daughter,  my  dear  daughter,  I  see 
good  and  ill  angels  fighting  for  thy 
soul  this  day,  ay,  this   moment ;  O, 


fight  thou  on  thine  own  side.  Dos*- 
thou  remember  all  I  bade  thee  ?  " 

"  Remember  !  "  said  the  princess. 
"  Sweet  saint,  each  syllable  of  thine 
is  graved  in  my  heart." 

"  But  one  word  more  then.  Pray 
much  to  Christ,  and  little  to  his 
saints." 

"I  will." 

"  And  that  is  the  best  word  I  havo 
light  to  say  to  thee.  So  part  we  on 
it.  Thou  to  the  place  becomes  thee 
best,  thy  father's  house  :  I  to  my  holy 
mother's  work." 

"Adieu,"  faltered  the  princess. 
"  Adieu  thou  that  I  have  loved  too 
well,  hated  too  ill,  known  and  revered 
too  late ;  forgiving  angel,  adieu  — 
forever." 

The  monk  caught  her  words, 
though  but  faltered  in  a  sigh. 

"  Forever "?  "  he  cried  aloud,  with 
sudden  ardor.  "  Christians  live  '  for- 
ever,' and  love  '  forever,'  but  they 
never  part  '  forever.'  They  part,  as 
part  the  earth  and  sun,  to  meet  more 
brightly  in  a  little  while.  You  and 
I  part  here  for  life;  and  what  is 
our  life?  One  line  in  the  great 
story  of  the  Church,  whose  son 
and  daughter  we  are  ;  one  handful  in 
the  sand  of  time,  one  drop  in  the 
ocean  of  '  Forever.'  Adieu  —  for 
the  little  moment  called  '  a  life ! ' 
We  part  in  trouble,  we  shall  meet  in 
peace  :  we  part  creatures  of  clay,  we 
shall  meet  immortal  spirits  :  wc  part 
in  a  world  of  sin  and  soiTow,  we 
shall  meet  where  all  is  purity  and  love 
divine  ;  where  no  ill  passions  are,  but 
Christ  is,  and  his  saints  around  him 
clad  in  white.  Tliere,  in  the  turning 
of  an  hourglass,  in  the  breaking  of  a 
bubble,  in  the  passing  of  a  cloud,  she 
and  thou  and  I  shall  meet  again  ;  and 
sit  at  the  feet  of  angels  and  archan- 
gels, apostles  and  saints,  and  beam  like 
them  with  joy  unspeakable,  in  the  light 
of  the  shadow  of  God  upon  his  throne, 
for  ever  —  and  ever  —  and  ever." 

And  so  they  parted.  The  monk 
erect,  his  eyes  turned  heavenwards  and 
glowing  with  the  sacred  fire  of  zeal ; 


342 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


the  princess  slowly  retiring  and  turn- 
ing more  than  once  to  cast  a  lingering 
glance  of  awe  and  tender  regret  on 
that  inspired  figure. 

She  went  home  subdued  and  puri- 
fied. Clement,  in  due  course,  reached 
Basle,  and  entered  on  his  duties,  teach- 
ing in  the  University,  and  preaching 
in  the  town  and  neighborhood.  He 
led  a  life  that  can  be  comprised  in 
two  words, — deep  study  and  mortifi- 
cation. My  reader  has  already  a  peep 
into  his  soul.  At  Basle  he  advanced 
in  holy  zeal  and  knowledge. 

The  brethren  of  his  order  began  to 
see  in  him  a  descendant  of  the  saints 
and  martyrs. 


CHAPTER  LXXVI. 

When  little  Gerard  was  nearly 
three  months  old,  a  messenger  came 
hot  from  Tergou  for  Catherine. 

"  Now  just  you  go  back,"  said  she, 
"  and  tell  them  1  can't  come  and  I 
won't ;  they  have  got  Kate."  So  he 
departed,  and  Catherine  continued  her 
sentence  :  "  There,  child,  I  must  go  ; 
they  are  all  at  sixes  and  sevens  :  this 
is  the  third  time  of  asking ;  and  to- 
morrow my  man  would  come  himself 
and  take  me  home  by  the  ear,  with  a 
flea  in  't."  She  then  recapitulated 
her  experiences  of  infants,  and  in- 
structed Margaret  what  to  do  in  each 
coming  emergency,  and  pressed  mon- 
ey upon  her.  Margaret  declined  it 
with  thanks.  Catherine  insisted,  and 
turned  angry.  Margaret  made  ex- 
cuses, all  so  reasonable  that  Catherine 
rejected  them  with  calm  contempt;  to 
her  mind  they  lacked  femininity. 
"  Come,  out  Avith  your  heart,"  said 
she  ;  "  and  you  and  me  parting ;  and 
mayhap  shall  never  see  one  another's 
face  again." 

"  O  mother,  say  not  so." 

"  Alack,  girl,  I  have  seen  it  so  often  ; 
'twill  come  into  my  mind  now  at 
each  parting.  When  I  was  your  age, 
I  never  had  such  a  thought.  Nay,  we 
were  all  to  live  forever  then  :  so  out 
wi'  it" 


"  Well,  then,  mother,  —  I  would 
rather  not  have  told  you, — your 
Cornelis  must  say  to  me,  '  So  you 
are  come  to  share  with  us,  eh,  mis- 
tress ?  '  these  were  his  words.  I  told 
him  I  Avould  be  very  sorry." 

"  Beshrew  his  ill  tongue  !  What 
signifies  it  ?     He  will  never  know." 

"  Most  likely  he  woidd  sooner  or 
later.  But,  whether  or  no,  I  will  take 
no  grudged  bounty  from  any  family  ; 
unless  I  saw  ray  child  starving,  and 
then  Heaven  only  knows  what  I  might 
do.  Nay,  mother,  give  me  but  thy 
love,  —  I  do  prize  that  above  silver, 
and  they  grudge  me  not  that,  by  all 
I  can  find,  —  for  not  a  stiver  of  money 
will  I  take  out  of  your  house." 

"  You  are  a  foolish  lass.  Why, 
were  it  me,  1  'd  take  it  just  to  spite 
him." 

"  No,  you  would  not.  You  and  I 
are  apples  off  one  tree." 

Catherine  yielded  with  a  good 
grace;  and,  when  the  actual  partii'g 
came,  embraces  and  tears  burst  loi  tli 
on  both  sides. 

When  she  was  gone,  the  child  cried 
a  good  deal ;  and,  all  attempts  to  paci- 
fy him  failing,  Margaret  suspected  a 
pin,  and,  searching  between  his  clothes 
and  his  skin,  found  a  gold  angel  in- 
commoding his  backbone. 

"  There  now,  Gerard,"  said  she  to 
the  babe  ;  "  I  thought  granny  gave  in 
rather  sudden." 

She  took  the  coin  and  wrapped  it 
in  a  piece  of  linen,  and  laid  it  at  the 
bottom  of  her  box,  bidding  the  infant 
observe  she  could  be  at  times  as 
resolute  as  granny  herself. 

Catherine  told  Eli  of  Margaret's 
foolish  pride,  and  how  she  had  baffled 
it.  Eli  said  Margaret  was  right,  and 
she  was  wrong.  Catherine  tossed 
her  head.     Eli  pondered. 

Margaret  was  not  without  domes- 
tic anxieties.  She  had  still  two  men 
to  feed,  and  could  not  work  so  hard 
as  she  had  done.  She  had  enough  to 
do  to  keep  the  house  and  the  child, 
and  cook  for  them  all.  But  she  had 
a  little  money  laid  by,  and  she  used 
to  tell  her  child  his  father  would  bo 


THE  CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


343 


home  to  help  them  before  it  was  spent. 
And  with  these  bright  hopes,  and 
that  treasury  of  bliss,  her  boy,  she 
spent  some  happy  months. 

Time  wore  on ;  and  no  Grerard 
came ;  and,  stranger  still,  no  news  of 
him. 

Then  her  mind  was  disquieted, 
and,  contrary  to  her  nature,  which 
was  practical,  she  was  often  lost  in 
sad  revery,  and  sighed  in  silence. 
And,  while  her  heart  was  troubled, 
her  money  was  melting.  And  so  it 
was,  that  one  day  she  found  the  cup- 
board empty,  and  looked  in  her  de- 
pendants' faces  ;  and,  at  tlie  sight  of 
them,  her  bosom  was  all  pity  ;  and 
she  appealed  to  the  baby  whether  she 
could  let  grandfather  and  poor  old 
Martin  want  a  meal,  and  went  and 
took  out  Catherine's  angel.  As  she 
unfolded  the  linen,  a  tear  of  gentle 
mortification  fell  on  it.  She  sent 
Martin  out  to  change  it.  While  he 
was  gone  a  Frenchman  came  with 
one  of  the  dealers  in  illuminated 
work,  who  had  offered  her  so  poor  a 
price.  He  told  her  he  was  employed 
by  his  sovereign  to  collect  master- 
pieces for  her  book  of  hours.  Then 
she  showed  him  the  two  best  things  she 
had ;  and  he  was  charmed  with  one  of 
them,  viz.  the  flowers  and  raspberries 
and  creeping  things,  which  Margaret 
Van  Eyck  had  shaded.  He  offered 
her  an  unheard-of  price.  "Nay,  flout 
not  my  need,  good  stranger,"  said 
she :  "  three  mouths  there  be  in  this 
house,  and  none  to  fill  them  but 
me." 

Curious  arithmetic!  Left  out 
No.  1. 

"  I  flout  thee  not,  fair  mistress. 
My  princess  charged  me  strictly, 
'  Seek  the  best  craftsmen ;  but  I 
will  no  hard  bargains ;  make  them 
content  with  me,  and  me  with 
them.' " 

The  next  minute  Margaret  was  on 
her  knees  kissing  little  Gerard  in  the 
cradle,  and  showering  four  gold  pieces 
oil  him  again  and  again,  and  re- 
lating the  whole  occurrence  to  liim 
in  very  broken  Dutch 
15* 


"  And  0,  what  a  good  princess : 
was  n't  she  ?  We  will  pray  for  her, 
won't  we,  my  lambkin,  when  we  are 
old  enough  1  " 

Martin  came  in  furious.  "  They 
will  not  change  it.  I  trow  they  think 
I  stole  it." 

"  I  am  beholden  to  thee,"  said  Mar- 
garet, hastily,  and  almost  snatched  it 
from  Martin,  and  wrapped  it  up  again, 
and  restored  it  to  its  hiding-place. 

Ere  these  unexpected  funds  were 
spent,  she  got  to  her  ironing  and 
starching  again.  In  the  midst  ot 
which  Martin  sickened,  and  died  after 
an  illness  of  nine  days. 

Nearly  all  her  money  went  to  bury 
him  decently. 

He  was  gone,  and  there  was  an 
empty  chair  by  her  fireside.  For  he 
had  preferred  the  hearth  to  the  sun 
as  soon  as  the  Busybody  was  gone. 

Margaret  would  not  allow  any- 
body to  sit  in  this  chair  now.  Yet 
whenever  she  let  her  eye  dwell  too 
long  on  it,  vacant,  it  was  sure  to  cost 
her  a  tear. 

And  now  there  was  nobody  to 
carry  her  linen  home.  To  do  it  her- 
self she  must  leave  little  Gerard  in 
charge  of  a  neighbor.  But  she  dared 
not  trust  such  a  treasure  to  mortal  ; 
and,  besides,  she  could  not  bear  him 
out  of  her  sight  for  hours  and  hours. 
So  she  set  inquiries  on  foot  for  a  boy 
to  carry  her  basket  on  Saturday  and 
Monday. 

A  plump,  fresh-colored  youth, 
called  Luke  Peterson,  who  looked  fif- 
teen, but  was  eighteen,  came  in,  and 
blushing,  and  twiddling  his  bonnet, 
asked  if  a  man  would  not  serve  her 
turn  as  well  as  a  boy. 

Before  he  spoke  she  was  saying  to 
herself,  "  This  boy  will  just  do." 

But  she  took  the  cue,  and  said: 
"  Nay  ;  but  a  man  will  maybe  seeV 
more  than  I  can  weR  ]iay." 

"  Not  I,"  said  Luke,  wiu-mly. 
Why,  Mistress  Margaret,  I  am  your 
neighbor,  and  I  dft  very  well  at  the 
coopering.  I  can  carry  your  basket 
for  you  before  and  after  my  day's 
work,  and  welcome.     You   have  no 


344 


THE  cloistp:r  and  the  hearth. 


need  to  pay  me  anythinj^.  'T  is  n't 
as  if  we  were  strangers,  ye  know." 

"  Why,  Master  Luke,  I  know  your 
face,  for  that  matter ;  but  I  cannot  call 
to  mind  that  ever  a  word  passed  be- 
tween us." 

"  O  yes,  you  did,  Mistress  Mar- 
garet. What,  have  you  forgotten  ? 
One  day  you  were  trying  to  carry 
your  baby  and  eke  your  pitcher  full 
o '  water ;  and  quo'  I,  '  Give  me  the 
baby  to  carry.'  '  Nay,'  says  you,  'I  '11 
give  you  the  pitcher,  and  keep  the 
bairn  myself:  and  I  carried  the 
pitcher  home,  and  3'ou  took  it  from 
me  at  this  door,  and  you  said  to  me, 
'  I  am  muckle  obliged  to  you,  young 
man,'  with  such  a  sweet  voice ;  not 
like  the  folk  in  this  street  speak  to 
a  body." 

"  I  do  mind  now.  Master  Luke ; 
and  mcthinks  it  was  the  least  I  could 
say." 

"  Well,  Mistress  Margaret,  if  you 
will  say  as  much  every  time  I  carry 
your  basket,  I  care  not  how  often  I 
bear  it,  nor  how  far." 

"  Nay,  nay,"  said  Margaret,  color- 
ing faintly,  "  I  would  not  put  upon 
good-nature.  You  are  young,  Mas- 
ter Luke,  and  kindly.  Say  I  give 
you  your  supper  on  Saturday  night, 
when  you  bring  the  linen  home, 
and  your  dawn-mete  o'  Monday ; 
would  that  make  us  anyways  even  ?  " 

"  As  you  please ;  only  say  not  I 
sought  a  couple  o'  diets,  I,  for  such  a 
trifle  as  yon." 

With  chubby-faced  Luke's  timely 
assistance,  and  the  health  and 
strength  which  Heaven  gave  this  poor 
young  woman,  to  balance  her  many 
ills,  the  house  went  pretty  smoothly 
awhile.  But  the  heart  became  more 
and  more  troubled  by  Gerard's  long, 
and  now  most  mysterious  silence. 

And  then  that  mental  torturer,  Sus- 
pense, began  to  tear  her  heavy  heart 
with  his  hot  pincers,  till  she  cried  out 
often  and  vehemently,  "  O  that  I 
could  know  the  worst !  " 

While  she  was  in  this  state,  one  day 
she  heard  a  heavy  step  mount  the 
Btair.     She    started    and    trembled; 


"  That  is  no  step  that  I  know.  El 
tidings  !  " 

The  door  opened,  and  an  unexpect- 
ed visitor,  Eli,  came  in,  looking  grave 
and  kind. 

Margaret  eyed  him  in  silence,  and 
with  increasing  agitation. 

"  Girl,"  said  he,  "  the  skipper  is 
come  back." 

"  One  word,"  gasped  Margaret,  "  is 
he  alive  ?  " 

"  Surely,  I  hope  so.  No  one  has 
seen   him   dead." 

"  Then  they  must  have  seen  him 
alive." 

"  No,  girl ;  neither  dead  nor  alive 
hath  he  been  seen  this  many  months 
in  Rome.  My  daughter  Kate  thinks 
he  is  gone  to  some  other  city.  She 
bade  me  tell  you  her  thought." 

"  Ay,  like  enough,"  said  Margaret, 
gloomily,  — "  like  enough.  My  poor 
babe  !  " 

The  old  man  in  a  Aiintish  voice 
asked  her  for  a  morsel  to  eat ;  he  had 
come  fixsting. 

The  poor  thing  pitied  him  with  the 
surface  of  her  agitated  mind,  and 
cooked  a  meal  for  him,  trembling,  and 
scarce  knowing  what  she  was  about. 

Ere  he  went  he  laid  his  hand  upon 
her  head,  and  said  :  "  Be  he  alive  or 
be  he  dead,  I  look  on  thee  as  my 
daughter.  Can  I  do  naught  for  thee, 
this  day  ?  bethink  thee,  now." 

"  Ay,  old  man.  Pray  for  him,  and 
for  me ! " 

Eli  sighed,  and  went  sadly  and 
heavily  down  the  stairs. 

She  listened  half  stupidly  to  his  re- 
tiring footsteps  till  they  ceased.  Then 
she  sank  moaning  down  by  the  cra- 
dle, and  drew  little  Gerard  tight  to 
her  bosom.  "  O  my  poor  fatherless 
boy  :  my  fatherless  boy  !  " 


CHAPTER  LXXVII. 

Not  long  after  this,  as  the  little 
family  at  Tergou  sat  at  dinner,  Luke 
Peterson  burst  in  on  them,  covered 
with   dust.     "  Good  people^  Mistress 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


345 


Cnthcrine  is  wanted  instantly  at  Rot- 
terdam." 

"  My  name  is  Catherine,  young 
man.  "Kate,  it  will  be  Margaret." 

"  Ay,  dame,  she  said  to  me, 
'  Good"  Luke,  hie  thee  to  Tergou,  and 
ask  for  Eli  the  hosier,  and  pray  his 
wife  Catherine  to  come  to  me,  for  God 
his  love.'  I  didn't  wait  for  day- 
light." 

"  Holy  Saints  !  He  has  come  home, 
Kate.  Nay,  she  would  sure  have  said 
so.  What  on  earth  can  it  be  1  "  And 
she  heaped  conjecture  on  conjecture. 

"  Mayhap  the  young  man  can  tell 
us,"  hazarded  Kate,  tiniidlv. 

"  That  I  can,"  said  Luke.  "  Why, 
her  babe  is  a  dying.  And  she  was  so 
wrapped  up  in  it !  " 

Catherine  started  up  :  "  What  is  his 
trouble  ?  " 

"  Nay,  I  know  not.  But  it  has  been 
peaking  and  pining  worse  and  worse 
this  while." 

A  furtive  glance  of  satisfaction 
passed  between  Cornells  and  Sy- 
brandt.  Luckily  for  them,  Catherine 
did  not  see  it.  Her  face  was  turned 
towards  her  husband.  "  Now,  Eli," 
cried  she,  furiously,  "  if  you  say  a 
word  against  it,  you  and  I  shall  quar- 
rel, after  all  these  years." 

"  Who  gainsays  thee,  foolish  wo- 
man ?  Quarrel  with  your  own  shad- 
ow, while  I  go  borrow  Peter's  mule 
for  ye." 

"Bless  thee,  my  good  man  !  Bless 
thee !  Didst  never  yet  fail  me  at  a 
pinch.  Now  eat  your  dinners  who 
can,  while  I  go  and  make  ready." 

She  took  Luke  back  with  her  in  the 
cart,  and,  on  the  way,  questioned  and 
cross-questioned  him,  severely  and 
seductively  by  turns,  till  she  had 
turned  his  mind  inside  out,  what  there 
was  of  it. 

Margaret  met  her  at  the  door,  pale 
and  agitated,  and  threw  her  arms 
round  her  neck,  and  looked  implor- 
ingly in  her  face. 

"  Come,  he  is  alive,  thank  God," 
said  Catherine,  after  scanning  her  ea- 
gerly. 

She  looked  at  the  failing  child,  and 


then  at  the  poor,  hollow-eyed  moth- 
er alternately.  "  Lucky  you  sent  for 
me,"  said  she.  "  The  child  is  poi- 
soned." 

"  Poisoned  !  by  whom  ?  " 

"  By  you.  You  have  been  fret- 
ting." 

"  Nay,  indeed,  mother.  How  can  I 
help  fretting  ?  " 

"  Don't  tell  me,  Margaret.  A 
nursing  mother  has  no  business  to 
fret.  She  must  turn  her  mind  away 
from  her  grief  to  the  comfort  that  lies 
in  her  lap.  Know  you  not  that  the 
child  pines  if  the  mother  vexes  her- 
self? This  comes  of  your  reading 
and  writing.  Those  idle  crafts  befit 
a  man ;  but  they  keep  all  useful 
knowledge  out  of  a  woman.  The 
child  must  be  weaned." 

"  0  you  cruel  woman,"  cried  Mar- 
garet, vehemently ;  "  I  am  sorry  I 
sent  for  you.  Would  you  rob  me  of 
the  only  bit  of  comfort  I  have  in  the 
world  ?  A  nursing  my  Gerard,  I  for- 
get I  am  the  most  unhappy  creature 
beneath  the  sun." 

"  That  you  do  not,"  was  the  I'etort, 
"  or  he  would  not  be  the  way  he  is." 

"  Mother  !  "  said  Margaret,  implor- 
ingly- 

"  'T  is  hard,"  replied  Catherine, 
relenting.  "  But  bethink  thee ;  would 
it  not  be  harder  to  look  down  and  see 
his  lovely  wee  face  a  looking  up  at 
you  out  of  a  little  coffin  ?  " 

"  O  Jesu  !  " 

"  And  how  could  you  face  your 
other  troubles  with  your  heart  aye 
full,  and  your  lap  empty  ?  " 

"  O  mother,  I  consent  to  anything. 
Only  save  my  boy." 

"  That  is  a  good  lass.  Trust  to 
me  !  I  do  stand  by,  and  see  clearer 
than  thou." 

Unfortunately  there  was  another 
consent  to  be  gained ;  the  babe's : 
and  he  was  more  refractory  than  his 
mother. 

"  There,"  said  Margaret,  trying  to 
affect  regret  at  his  misbehavior ;  "  he 
loves  me  too  well." 

But  Catherine  was  a  match  for  them 
both.    As  she  came  along  she  had  ob- 


846 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


served  a  healthy  younc:  woman,  sit- 
ting outside  her  own  door,  with  an 
infant,  hard  by.  She  went  and  told 
her  the  ease  ;  and  would  she  nurse 
the  })ining  child  for  the  nonce,  till  she 
had  matters  ready  to  wean  him  ? 

The  yoniif^  woman  consented  with 
a  smile,  and  i)opped  her  child  into  the 
cradle,  and  came  into  Margaret's 
house.  She  drop]>ed  a  courtesy,  and 
Catherine  put  the  child  into  her 
hands.  She  examined,  and  pitied  it, 
and  purred  over  it,  and  proceeded  to 
nurse  it,  just  as  if  it  had  been  her 
own. 

Margaret,  who  had  been  paralyzed 
at  her  assurance,  cast  a  rueful  look  at 
Catherine,  and  burst  out  crying. 

The  visitor  looked  up.  "  What  is 
to  do?  Wife,  ye  told  me  not  the 
mother  was  unwilling." 

"  She  is  not :  she  is  only  a  fool ; 
never  heed  her  :  and  you,  Margaret,  I 
am  ashamed  of  you." 

"  You  are  a  cruel,  hard-hearted  wo- 
man," sobbed  Margaret. 

"  Them  as  take  in  hand  to  guide 
the  weak  need  be  hardish.  And  you 
will  excuse  me ;  but  you  are  not  my 
flesh  and  blood  :  and  your  boy  is." 

After  giving  this  blunt  speech  time 
to  sink,  she  added  :  "  Come  now,  she 
is  robbing  her  own  to  save  yours,  and 
you  can  think  of  nothing  better  than 
bursting  out  a  blubbering  in  the  wo- 
man's face.     Out  fie,  for  shame  !  " 

"  Nay,  wife,"  said  the  nurse.  "  Thank 
Heaven,  I  have  enough  for  my  own 
and  for  hers  to  boot.  And  prithee  wy  te 
not  on  her !  Maybe  the  troubles  o' 
life  ha'  soured  her  own  milL" 

"  And  her  heart  into  the  bargain," 
said  the  remorseless  Catherine. 

Margaret  looked  her  full  in  the 
face,  and  down  went  lier  eyes. 

"  I  know  I  ought  to  be  very  grate- 
ful to  you,"  sobbed  Margaret,  to  the 
nurse :  then  turned  her  head  and 
leaned  away  over  the  chair,  not  to 
witness  the  intolerable  sight  of  anoth- 
er nursing  her  Gerard,  and  Gerard 
drawing  no  distinction  between  this 
new  mother  and  her  the  banished  one. 

The  nurce  replied :  "  You  are  very 


welcome,  my  poor  woman.  And  so 
are  you.  Mistress  Catherine,  which 
are  my  townswoman,  ajid  know  it 
not." 

"  What,  are  ye  from  Tergou  ?  all 
the  better.  But  I  cannot  call  your 
face  to  mind." 

"  O,  you  know  not  me :  my  hus- 
band and  me,  we  are  very  humble 
folk  by  you.  But  true  Eli  and  his 
wife  are  known  of  all  the  town,  and 
respected.  So  1  am  at  your  call, 
dame ;  and  at  yours,  wife ;  and  yours, 
my  pretty  poppet ;  night  or  day." 

"  There  's  a  woman  of  the  right  old 
sort,"  said  Catherine,  as  the  door 
closed  upon  her. 

"  I  hate  her.  I  hate  her.  I  hate 
her,"  said  Margaret,  with  wonderful 
fenor. 

Catherine  only  laughed  at  this  out- 
burst. 

"  That  is  right,"  said  she,  "  better 
say  it,  as  sit  sly  and  think  it.  It  is 
very  natural  after  all.  Come,  here  is 
your  bundle  o'  comfort.  Take  and 
hate  that,  if  you  can  " ;  and  she  put 
the  child  in  her  lap. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Margaret,  turning 
her  head  half  away  from  him ;  she 
could  not  for  her  life  turn  the  other 
half.  "  He  is  not  my  child  now  ;  he 
is  hers.  I  know  not  why  she  left  him 
here,  for  my  part.  It  was  very  good 
of  her  not  to  take  him  to  her  house, 
cradle  and  all ;  oh  !  oh  !  oh  I  oh  ! 
oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  " 

"  Ah  !  well,  one  comfort,  he  is  not 
dead.  This  gives  me  light;  some 
other  woman  has  got  him  away  from 
me  ;  like  father,  like  son ;  oh  !  oh  ! 
oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  " 

Catherine  was  sorry  for  her,  and 
let  her  cry  in  peace.  And  after  that, 
when  she  wanted  Joan's  aid,  she  used 
to  take  Gerard  out  to  give  him  a  little 
fresh  air.  Margaret  never  objected; 
nor  expressed  the  least  incredulity ; 
but,  on  their  return,  was  always  in 
tears. 

This  connivance  was  short-lived 
She  was  now  altogether  as  eager  to 
wean  little   Gerard.     It  was   dons  • 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE   HEARTH. 


347 


and  he  rccoverwl  health  and  vigor ; 
and  another  trouble  tell  upon  him  di- 
rectly,—  teething.  But  here  Cathe- 
rine's experience  was  invaluable ;  and 
now,  in  the  midst  of  her  grief  and  anx- 
iety about  the  father,  Margaret  had 
moments  of  bliss,  watching  the  son's 
tiny  teeth  come  through.  "  Teeth, 
mother  ?  1  call  them  not  teeth,  but 
pearls  of  pearls."  And  each  pearl 
that  peeped  and  sparkled  on  his  red 
gums  was  to  her  the  greatest  feat 
Nature  had  ever  achieved. 

Her  companion  partook  the  illusion. 
And,  had  we  told  them  a  field  of 
standing  corn  was  equally  admirable, 
Margaret  would  have  changed  to  a 
reproachful  gazelle,  and  Catherine 
turned  us  out  of  doors ;  so  each 
pearl's  arrival  was  announced  with  a 
shriek  of  triumph  by  whichever  of 
them  was  the  fortunate  discoverer. 

Catherine  gossiped  with  Joan,  and 
learned  that  she  was  the  wife  of  Jo- 
rian  Ketel  of  Tergou,  who  had  been 
servant  to  Ghysbrecht  Van  Swieten, 
but  fallen  out  of  favor,  and  come  back 
to  Rotterdam,  his  native  place.  His 
friends  had  got  him  the  place  of  sex- 
ton to  the  parish,  and,  what  with  that 
and  carpentering,  he  did  pretty  well. 

Catherine  told  Joan  in  return 
whose  child  it  was  she  had  nursed, 
and  all  about  Margaret  and  Gerard, 
and  the  deep  anxiety  his  silence  had 
plunged  them  in.  "  Ay,"  said  Joan, 
"  the  world  is  full  of  trouble."  One 
day  she  said  to  Catherine  :  "  It 's  my 
belief  my  man  knows  more  about 
your  Gerard  than  anybody  in  these 
parts  :  but  he  has  got  to  be  closer 
than  ever  of  late.  Drop  in  some  day 
just  afore  sunset,  and  set  him  talking. 
And,  for  our  Lady's  sake,  say  not  I 
set  you  on.  The  only  hiding  he  ever 
gave  me  was  for  babbling  his  business : 
and  I  do  not  want  another.  Gramer- 
cy !  I  married  a  man  for  the  comfort 
of  the  thing,  not  to  be  hided." 

Catherine  drojjped  in.  Jorian  was 
ready  enough  to  tell  her  how  he  luul 
befriended  her  son  and  perhaps  saved 
his  life.     But  this  was  no   news  to 


Catherine  :  and,  the  moment  she  be- 
gan to  cross-question  him  as  to  wheth- 
er he  could  guess  why  her  lost  boy 
neither  came  nor  wrote,  he  cast  a 
grim  look  at  his  wife,  who  received 
it  with  a  calm  air  of  stolid  candor  and 
innocent  unconsciousness;  and  his 
answers  became  short  and  sullen. 
"  What  should  he  know  more  than 
another '? "  and  so  on.  He  added, 
after  a  pause  :  "  Think  you  the  burgo- 
master takes  such  as  me  into  his 
secrets  ?  " 

"  O,  then  the  burgomaster  knows 
something "?  "  said  Catherine,  sharp- 

"  Likely.     What  else  should  ?  " 

"I'll  ask  him." 

"  I  would." 

"  And  tell  him  you  say  he  knows." 

"  That  is  right,  dame.  Go  make 
him  mine  enemy.  That  is  what  a 
poor  fellow  always  gets  if  he  says  a 
word  to  you  women."  And  Jorian 
from  that  moment  shrunk  in  and  be- 
came impenetrable  as  a  hedgehog,  and 
almost  as  prickly. 

His  conduct  caused  both  the  poor 
women  agonies  of  mind  ;  alarm,  and 
irritated  curiosity.  Ghysbrecht  was 
for  some  cause  Gerard's  mortal  ene- 
my ;  had  stopped  his  marriage,  im- 
prisoned him,  hunted  him.  And  here 
was  his  late  servant,  who,  when  off 
his  guard,  had  hinted  that  this  enemy 
had  the  clew  to  Gerard's  silence.  Af. 
ter  sifting  Jorian 's  every  word  and 
look,  all  remained  dark  and  myste- 
rious. Then  Catherine  told  Margaret 
to  go  herself  to  him.  "You  are 
young  ;  you  are  fiiir.  You  will,  may- 
be, get  more  out  of  him  than  I 
could." 

The  conjecture  was  a  reasonable 
one. 

Margaret  went  Avith  her  child  in 
her  arms  and  tapped  timidly  at  Jo- 
rian's  door  just  before  sunset.  "  Come 
in,"  said  a  sturdy  voice.  She  en- 
tered, and  there  sat  Jorian  by  the 
fireside.  At  sight  of  her  he  rose, 
snorted,  and  burst  out  of  the  house. 
"  Is  that  for  me,  wife  ? "  inquired 
Margaret,  turning  very  red. 


348 


thp:  cloister  and  the  hearth. 


"  You  must  excuse  him,"  replied 
Joan,  rather  coldly  ;  "  he  lays  it  to 
your  door  that  he  is  a  poor  man  in- 
stead of  a  rich  one.  It  is  something 
about  a  piece  of  parchment.  There 
was  one  a  missing,  and  he  got  naught 
from  the  burgomaster  all  along  that 
one." 

"Alas  !  Gerard  took  it." 

"  Likely.  But  my  man  says  you 
should  not  have  let  him  :  you  were 
pledged  to  him  to  keep  them  all  safe. 
And,  sooth  to  say,  I  blame  not  my 
Jorian  for  being  wroth.  'T  is  hard 
for  a  poor  man  to  be  so  near  fortune 
and  lose  it  by  those  he  has  befriend- 
ed. However,  I  tell  him  another 
story.  Says  I,  '  Folk  that  are  out 
o' trouble,  like  you  and  me,  didn't 
ought  to  be  too  hard  on  folk  that  are 
in  trouble ;  and  she  has  plenty.' 
Going  already  ?  What  is  all  your 
hurry,  mistress  ?  " 

"  O,  it  is  not  for  mc  to  drive  the 
good  man  out  of  his  own  house." 

"  Well,  let  mc  kiss  the  bairn  afore 
ye  go.  He  is  not  in  fault  any  way, 
poor  innocent." 

Upon  this  cruel  rebuff,  Margaret 
came  to  a  resolution,  which  she  did 
not  confide  even  to  Catherine. 

After  six  weeks'  stay  that  good 
woman  returned  home. 

On  the  child's  birthday,  which  oc- 
curred soon  after,  Margaret  did  no 
work  ;  but  put  on  her  Sunday  clothes, 
and  took  her  boy  in  her  arms,  and 
went  to  the  church  and  prayed  there 
long  and  fervently  for  Gerard's  safe 
return. 

That  same  day  and  hour  Father 
Clement  celebrated  a  mass  and 
prayed  for  Margaret's  departed  soul 
in  the  minster  church  at  Basle. 


CHAPTER   LXXVIII. 

Some  blackguard  or  other,  I  think 
it  was  Sybrandt,  said,  "  A  lie  is  not 
like  a  blow  with  a  curtaJ  axe." 

True  ;  for  we  can  predict  in  some 
degree  the  consequences  of  a  stroke 


with  any  material  weapon.  But  a 
lie  has  no  bounds  at  all.  The  nature 
of  the  thing  is  to  ramify  beyond  hti- 
man  calcuhition. 

Often  in  the  every-day  world  a  lie 
has  cost  a  life,  or  laid  waste  two  or 
three. 

And  so  in  this  story,  what  tre- 
mendous consequences  of  that  one 
heartless  falsehood ! 

Yet  the  tellers  reaped  little  from 
it. 

The  brothers,  who  invented  it 
merely  to  have  one  claimant  the  less 
for  their  father's  property,  saw  little 
Gerard  take  their  brother's  jilace  in 
their  mother's  heart.  Nay,  more, 
one  day  Eli  openly  proclaimed  that, 
Gerard  being  lost,  and  probably 
dead,  he  had  provided  by  will  for 
little  Gerard,  and  also  for  Margaret, 
his  poor  son's  widow. 

At  this  the  look  that  passed  be- 
tween the  black  sheep  was  a  caution 
to  traitors.  Cornells  had  it  on  his 
lips  to  say  Gerard  was  most  likely 
alive.  But  he  saw  his  mother  look- 
ing at  him,  and  checked  himself  in 
time. 

Ghysbrecht  Van  Swieten,  the  other 
partner  in  that  lie,  was  now  a  fail- 
ing man.  He  saw  the  period  fast 
approaching  when  all  his  wealth 
would  drop  from  his  body,  and  his 
misdeeds  cling  to  his  soul. 

Too  intelligent  to  deceive  himself 
entirely,  he  had  never  been  free  from 
gusts  of  remorse.  In  taking  Gerard's 
letter  to  Margaret  he  had  compound- 
ed. "  I  cannot  give  up  land  and 
money,"  said  his  giant  Avarice.  "  I 
will  cause  her  no  unnecessary  pain," 
said  his  dwarf  Conscience. 

So,  after  first  tampering  with  the 
seal,  and  finding  there  was  not  a 
syllable  about  the  deed,  he  took  it  to 
her  with  his  owti  hand,  and  made  a 
merit  of  it  to  himself :  a  set-off ;  and 
on  a  scale  not  uncommon  where  the 
self-accuser  is  the  judge. 

The  birth  of  Margaret's  child 
surprised  and  shocked  him,  and  put 
his  treacherous  act  in  a  new  light. 
Should  his  letter  take  effect,  he  should 


THE  CLOISTER  AND   THE  HEARTH. 


349 


cause  the  dishonor  of  her  who  was 
the  daughter  of  one  friend,  the  grand- 
daughter of  another,  and  whose  land 
he  was  keeping  from  her  too. 

These  thoughts  preying  on  hira  at 
that  period  of  life  when  the  strength 
of  body  decays,  and  the  memory  of 
old  friends  revives,  filled  him  with 
gloomy  horrors.  Yet  he  was  afraid 
to  confess.  For  the  cure  was  an 
honest  man,  and  would  have  made 
him  disgorge.  And  with  him  Ava- 
rice was  an  ingrained  habit,  Peni- 
tence only  a  sentiment. 

Matters  were  thus  when  one  day, 
returning  from  the  town-hall  to  his 
own  house,  he  found  a  woman  wait- 
ing for  him  in  the  vestibule,  with  a 
child  in  her  amis.  She  was  veiled, 
and  so,  concluding  she  had  something 
to  be  ashamed  of,  he  addressed  her 
magisterially.  On  this  she  let  down 
her  veil  and  looked  him  full  in  the 
face. 

It  was  Margaret  Brandt. 

Her  sudden  appearance  and  manner 
startled  him,  and  he  could  not  con- 
ceal his  confusion. 

"  Where  is  my  Gerard  1 "  cried 
she,  her  bosom  heaving.  "  Is  he 
alive  V 

"  For  aught  I  know,"  stammered 
Ghysbrecht.  "  I  hope  so,  for  your 
sake.  Prithee  come  into  this  room. 
The  scn'ants ! " 

"  Not  a  step,"  said  Margaret,  and 
she  took  him  by  the  shoulder,  and 
held  him  with  all  the  energy  of  an 
excited  woman.  "  You  know  the 
secret  of  that  which  is  breaking  my 
heart.  Why  does  not  my  Gerard 
come,  nor  send  a  line  this  many 
months  1  Answer  me,  or  all  the 
town  is  like  to  hear  me,  let  alone  thy 
servants.  My  misery  is  too  great  to 
be  sported  with." 

In  vain  he  persisted  he  knew  noth- 
ing about  Gerard.  She  told  him 
those  who  had  sent  her  to  him  told 
her  another  tale.  "  You  do  know 
why  he  neither  comes  nor  sends," 
said  she,  firmly. 

At  this  Ghysbrecht  turned  paler 
and  paler ;  but  he  summoned  all  his 


dignity,  and  said,  "Woiild  you  be- 
lieve those  two  knaves  against  a  man 
of  worship  1 " 

"  What  two  knaves  1 "  said  she, 
keenly. 

He  stammered  :  "  Said  ye  not — 1 
There,  I  am  a  poor  old  broken  man, 
whose  memory  is  shaken.  And  you 
come  here,  and  confuse  me  so.  I 
know  not  what  I  say." 

"  Ay,  sir,  your  memory  is  shaken, 
or  sure  you  would  not  be  my  enemy. 
My  father  saved  you  from  the  plague, 
when  none  other  would  come  anigh 
you,  and  was  ever  your  friend.  My 
grandfather  Floris  helped  you  in  your 
early  poverty,  and  loved  you  man 
and  boy.  Three  generations  of  us 
you  have  seen  ;  and  here  is  the  fourth 
of  us  ;  this  is  your  old  friend  Peter's 
grandchild.  Look  down  on  his  in- 
nocent face,  and  think  of  theirs  !  " 

"  Woman,  you  torture  me,"  sighed 
Ghysbrecht,  and  sank  upon  a  bench. 
But  she  saw  her  advantage,  and 
kneeled  before  him,  and  put  the  boy 
on  his  knees.  "  This  fatherless  babe 
is  poor  Margaret  Brandt's  that  never 
did  you  ill,  and  comes  of  a  race  that 
loved  you.  Nay,  look  at  his  face. 
'T  will  melt  thee  more  than  any  word 
of  mine.  Saints  of  heaven  !  what 
can  a  poor  desolate  girl  and  her  babe 
have  clone  to  wipe  out  all  memory  of 
thine  own  young  days,  when  thou 
wert  guiltless  as  he  is  that  now 
looks  up  in  thy  face  and  implores 
thee  to  give  him  back  his  father "?  " 

And,  with  her  arms  under  the 
child,  she  held  him  up  higher  and 
higher,  smiling,  under  the  old  man's 
eyes. 

He  cast  a  wild  look  of  anguish  on 
the  child,  and  another  on  the  kneel- 
injj  mother,  and  started  up,  shrieking, 
"  Avaunt,  ye  pair  of  adders." 

The  stung  soid  gave  the  old  limbs 
a  momentary  vigor,  and  he  walked 
rapidly,  wringing  his  hands  and 
clutching  at  his  white  hair.  "  Forget 
those  days  ?  I  forget  all  else.  O  wo- 
man, woman  !  sleeping  or  waking,  I 
see  but  the  faces  of  the  dead,  I  hear 
but  the  voices  of  the  dead,  and  I  shall 


350 


tUE  CLOISTER   AND  THE   HEARTH. 


soon  be  amonj?  the  dead.  There, 
there,  what  is  done  is  done.  I  am  in 
hell.     I  am  in  licli." 

And  unnatural  force  ended  in  pros- 
tration. 

He  stapgcred,  and,  but  for  Marga- 
ret, would  have  fallen.  With  her  one 
disengaged  arm  she  supported  him  as 
well  as  she  could,  and  cried  for  help. 

A  couple  of  servants  came,  run- 
ning, and  carried  him  away  in  a  state 
bordering  on  syncope.  The  last 
Margaret  saw  of  him  was  his  old  fur- 
rowed face,  white  anil  helpless  as  his 
hair  that  hung  down  over  the  ser- 
vant's elbow. 

"  Heaven  forgive  me,"  she  said. 
"  I  doubt  I  have  killed  the  poor  old 
man." 

Then  this  attempt  to  penetrate  the 
torturing  mystery  left  it  as  dark  or 
darker  than  before.  For,  when  she 
came  to  ponder  every  word,  her  sus- 
picion was  confirmed  that  Ghysbrecht 
did  know  something  about  Gerard. 
"  And  who  were  the  two  knaves  he 
thought  had  done  a  good  deed,  and 
told  me  ?  O  my  Gerard,  my  poor 
deserted  babe,  you  and  I  arc  wading 
in  deep  waters." 

The  visit  to  Tergou  took  more 
money  than  she  could  well  afford ; 
and  a  customer  ran  away  in  her  debt. 
She  was  once  more  compelled  to  un- 
fold Catherine's  angel.  But,  strange 
to  say,  as  she  came  down  stairs  with 
it  in  her  hand,  she  found  some  loose 
silver  on  the  table,  with  a  written 
line  :  — 

JFor  fficrarlJ  Ijis  KUgfe. 

She  fell  with  a  cry  of  surprise  on 
the  writing;  and  soon  it  rose  into  a 
cry  of  joy. 

"  He  is  alive.  He  sends  me  this  by 
some  friendly  hand." 

She  kissed  the  writing  again  and 
again,  and  put  it  in  her  bosom. 

Time  rolled  on,  and  no  news  of 
Gerard. 

And  about  every  two  months  a 
email  sum  in  silver  found  its  way  in- 
to the  house.  Sometimes  it  lay  on 
the    table.      Once    it  was  flung  in 


through   the  bedroom  window  in   A 

furse.  Once  it  was  at  the  bottom  of 
/uke's  basket.  He  bad  stoj)ped  at 
the  j)ublic  house  to  talk  to  a  friend. 
The  giver  or  his  agent  was  never  de- 
tected. Catherine  disowned  it.  Mar- 
garet Van  Kyck  swore  she  had  no 
hand  in  it.  So  did  Eli.  And  Mar- 
garet, whenever  it  came,  used  to  say 
to  little  Gerard  :  "  O  my  poor  desert- 
ed child,  ycju  and  I  arc  wading  in 
deep  waters." 

She  applied  at  least  half  this  mod- 
est but  useful  sujijily  to  dressing  the 
little  Gerard  beyond  his  station  in 
life.  "If  it  does  come  from* Gerard, 
he  sliall  see  his  boy  neat."  All  the 
mothers  in  the  street  began  to  sneer, 
especially  such  as  had  brats  out  at 
elbows. 

The  months  rolled  on,  and  dead 
sickness  of  heart  succeeded  to  these 
keener  torments.  She  returned  to 
her  first  thought :  "  Gerard  must  be 
dead.  She  should  never  see  her  boy's 
father  again,  nor  her  marriage  lines." 
This  last  grief,  which  had  been  some- 
what allayed  by  Eli  and  Catherine 
recognizing  her  betrothal,  now  re- 
vived in  full  force ;  others  would  not 
look  so  favorably  on  her  story.  And 
often  she  moaned  over  her  boy's  ille- 
gitimacy. "  Is  it  not  enough  for  us 
to  be  bereaved  ?  Must  we  be  dishon- 
ored too  ?  " 

A  change  took  place  in  Peter 
Brandt.  His  mind,  clouded  for  near- 
ly two  years,  seemed  now  to  be  clear- 
ing ;  he  had  intervals  of  intelligence  ; 
and  then  he  and  Margaret  used  to 
talk  of  Gerard  till  he  wandered 
again.  But  one  day,  returning  after 
an  absence  of  some  hours,  Margaret 
found  him  conversing  with  Catherine, 
in  a  way  he  had  never  done  since  his 
paralytic  stroke.  "  Eh,  girl,  why 
must  you  be  out  ?  "  said  she.  But, 
indeed,  I  have  told  him  all ;  and  we 
have  been  a  crying  together  over  thy 
troubles." 

Margaret  stood  silent,  looking  joy- 
fully from  one  to  the  other. 

Peter  smiled  on  her,  and  said 
"  Come,  let  me  bless  thee." 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE   HEARTH 


351 


She  kneeled  at  his  feet,  and  he 
blessed  her  most  eloquently.  He 
told  her  she  had  been  all  her  life  the 
lovingest,  truest,  and  most  obedient 
daughter  Heaven  ever  sent  to  a  poor 
old  widowed  man.  "  May  thy  son 
be  to  thee  what  thou  hast  been  to 
me  !  " 

After  this  he  dozed.  Then  the 
females  whispered  together ;  and 
Catherine  said  :  "  All  our  talk  e'en 
now  was  of  Gerard.  It  lies  heavy 
on  his  mind.  His  poor  head  must 
often  have  listened  to  us  when  it 
seemed  quite  dark.  Margaret,  he 
is  a  very  understanding  man ;  he 
thought  of  many  things  ;  '  He  may 
be  in  prison,'  says  he,  '  or  forced 
to  go  fighting  for  some  king,  or 
sent  to  Constantinople  to  copy 
books  there,  or  gone  into  the  Church 
after  all.'  He  had  a  bent  that 
way." 

"  Ah,  mother,"  whispered  Marga- 
ret, in  reply,  "  he  doth  but  deceive 
himself,  as  we  do." 

Ere  she  could  finish  the  sentence, 
a  strange  interruption  occurred. 

A  loud  voice  cried  out  :  "  I  sec 
him.     I  see  him." 

And  the  old  man  with  dilating  eyes 
seemed  to  be  looking  right  through 
the  wall  of  the  house. 

"  In  a  boat  ;  on  a  great  river  ; 
coming  this  way.  Sore  disfigured ; 
but  I  knew  him.  Gone !  gone  !  all 
dark." 

And  he  sank  back,  and  asked  feebly 
where  was  Margaret. 

"  Dear  father,  I  am  by  thy  side. 
O  mother !  mother,  what  is  this  ? " 

"  I  cannot  see  thee,  and  but  a  mo- 
ment agone  I  saw  all  round  the  world. 
Ay,  ay.  Well,  I  am  ready.  Is  this 
thy  hand  ?  Bless  thee,  my  child, 
bless  thee !  Weep  not !  The  tree 
is  ripe." 

The  old  physician  read  the  signs 
aright.  These  calm  words  were  his 
last.  The  next  moment  he  drooped 
his  head,  and  gently,  j)lacidly,  drifted 
away  from  earth,  like  an  infant  sink- 
ing to  rest.  The  torch  had  flashed 
up,  before  going  out. 


CHAPTER  LXXIX. 

She  who  had  wept  for  poor  old 
Martin  was  not  likely  to  bear  this 
blow  so  stoicall)'  as  the  death  of  the  old 
is  apt  to  be  borne.  In  vain  Cathe- 
rine tried  to  console  her  with  common- 
places ;  in  vain  told  her  it  was  a  hap- 
py release  for  him,  and  that,  as  he 
himself  had  said,  the  tree  was  ripe. 
But  her  worst  failure  was,  when  she 
urged  that  there  were  now  but  two 
mouths  to  feed,  and  one  care  the 
less. 

"  Such  cares  are  all  the  joys  I 
have,"  said  Margaret.  "  They  fill 
my  desolate  heart,  which  now  seems 
void  as  well  as  waste.  O  empty 
chair,  my  bosom  it  aches  to  see  thee. 
Poor  old  man,  how  could  I  love  him 
by  halves  ?  I  that  did  use  to  sit  and 
look  at  him  and  think,  'But  for  me 
thou  wouldst  die  of  hunger.'  He,  so 
wise,  so  learned  erst,  was  got  to  be 
helpless  as  my  own  sweet  babe,  and  I 
loved  him  as  if  he  had  been  my  child 
instead  of  ray  father.  0  empty 
chair !  O  empty  heart !  Well-a- 
day  !  well-a-day  !  " 

And  the  pious  tears  would  not  be 
denied. 

Then  Catherine  held  her  peace, 
and  hung  her  head.  And  one  day 
she  made  this  confession,  "  I  speak  to 
thee  out  o'  my  head,  and  not  out  o' 
my  bosom  ;  thou  dost  well  to  be  deaf 
to  me.  Were  I  in  thy  place  I  should 
mouni  the  old  man  all  one  as  thou 
dost." 

Then  Margaret  embraced  her,  and 
this  bit  of  true  sympathy  did  her  a  lit- 
tle good.  The  conmionplaces  did 
none. 

Then  Catherine's  bowels  yearned 
over  her,  and  she  said  :  "  My  poor 
girl,  you  were  not  born  to  live  alone. 
I  have  got  to  look  on  you  as  ray  own 
daughter.  Waste  net  thine  youth 
upon  my  son  Gerard.  Either  he  is 
dead  or  he  is  a  traitor.  It  cuts  ray 
heart  to  say  it;  but  who  can  help 
seeing  it  1  Thy  father  is  gone,  and 
I  cannot  always  be  aside  thee.  And 
here  is  an  honest  lad  that  loves  the« 


352 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


well  this  many  a  day.  I  'd  take  him 
and  Coiiiibrt  tofietla-r.  Heaven  hath 
sent  us  these  creatures  to  torment  us 
and  conit'ort  us  and  all;  wc  are  just 
nothing  in  the  world  without  em." 
Then,  seeinjjj  Marf^aret  look  utterly 
perplexed,  she  went  on  to  say,  "  Why, 
sure  you  arc  not  so  blind  as  not  to 
see  it '.  " 

"  What  ?     Who  >.  " 

"  Who  but  this  Luke  Peterson  ?  " 

"  What,  our  Luke  i  The  boy  that 
carries  my  basket  ?  " 

"  Nay,  he  is  over  nineteen,  and  a 
fine  healthy  lad  ;  and  I  have  made 
inquiries  for  you  ;  and  they  all  do  say 
he  is  a  caj)able  workman,  and  never 
touches  a  drop  ;  and  that  is  much  in 
a  Rotterdam  lad,  which  they  are 
mostly  half  man,  half  sponge." 

Margaret  smiled  for  the  first  time 
this  many  days.  "  Luke  loves  dried 
puddings  dciirly,"  said  she:  "and  I 
make  them  to  his  mind.  'T  is  them 
he  comes  a  courting  here."  Then 
she  suddenly  turned  red.  "  But  if  I 
thought  he  came  after  your  son's 
wife  that  is,  or  ought  to  be,  I  'd  soon 
put  him  to  the  door." 

"  Nay,  nay ;  for  Heaven's  sake  let 
me  not  make  mischief.  Poor  lad  ! 
Why,  girl.  Fancy  will  not  be  bridled. 
Bless  you,  I  wormed  it  out  of  him 
near  a  twelvemonth  agone." 

"  O  mother,  and  you  Id  him  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  thought  of  you.  I  said 
to  myself,  '  If  he  is  fool  enough  to  be 
her  slave  for  nothing,  all  the  better 
for  her.  A  lone  woman  is  lost  with- 
out a  man  about  her  to  fetch  and 
carry  her  little  matters.'  But  now 
my  mind  is  changed,  and  I  think  the 
best  use  you  can  put  him  to  is  to 
marry  him." 

"  So  then  his  own  mother  is  against 
him,  and  would  Mcd  me  to  tiie  first 
comer.  Ah,  Gerard,  thou  hast  but 
me :  I  will  not  believe  thee  dead  till 
I  see  thy  tomb,  nor  false  till  I  see  thee 
with  another  lover  in  thine  hand. 
Foolish  boy,  I  shall  ne'er  be  civil  to 
him  again." 

Afflicted  with  the  busybody's  pro- 
tection, Luke  Peterson  met  a  cold  re- 


ception in  the  house  where  he  had 
hitherto  iound  a  gentle  and  kind  one. 
And  by  and  by,  finding  himself  very 
little  s])oken  to  at  all,  and  then  sharp- 
ly and  irritably,  the  gieat,  soft  fellow 
fell  to  whimpering,  and  asked  Marga- 
ret ])lump  if  he  had  done  anything  to 
offend  her. 

"  Nothing.  I  am  to  blame.  I  am 
curst.  If  you  will  take  my  counsel, 
you  will  ki-ep  out  of  my  way  awliile." 

"  It  is  all  along  of  me,  Luke,"  said 
the  busybody. 

"  You,  Mistress  Catherine  ?  Why, 
what  have  I  done  for  you  to  set  her 
against  me  ? " 

"  Nay,  I  meant  all  for  the  best.  I 
tolil  her  I  saw  you  were  looking 
towards  kcr  through  a  wedding-ring. 
But  she  won't  hear  of  it." 

"  There  was  no  need  to  tell  her 
that,  wife  ;  she  knows  I  am  courting 
her  this  twelvemonth." 

"  Not  I,"  said  Margaret,  "  or  I 
should  never  have  opened  the  street 
door  to  you." 

"  Why,  I  come  here  every  Satur- 
day night.  And  that  is  how  the  lads 
in  Rotterdam  do  court.  If  we  sup 
with  a  lass  o'  Saturdays,  that 's  woo- 
ing." 

"O,  that  is  Rotterdam,  is  it? 
Then  next  time  you  come  let  it  be 
Thursday,  or  Friday.  For  my  part  I 
thought  you  came  after  my  puddings, 
boy." 

"  I  like  your  puddings  well  enough. 
You  make  them  better  than  mother 
does.  But  I  like  you  still  better  than 
the  puddings,"  said  Luke,   tenderly. 

"  Then  you  have  seen  the  last  of 
them.  How  dare  you  talk  so  to 
another  man's  wife,  and  him  far 
away  1  "  She  ended  gently,  but  very 
firmly  :  "  You  need  not  trouble  your- 
self to  come  here  any  more,  Luke  ;  I 
can  cany  my  basket  myself." 

"  O,  very  well,"  said  Luke,  and, 
after  sitting  silent  and  stupid  for  a 
little  while,  he  rose,  and  said  sadly  to 
Catherine,  "  Dame,  I  dare  say  I  have 
got  the  sack  "  ;  and  went  out. 

But  the  next  Saturday  Catherine 
found    him    seated  on   the  doorstep 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


353 


blubbex-ing.  He  told  her  he  had  got 
used  to  come  there,  and  every  other 
place  seemed  strange.  She  went  in 
and  told  Margaret,  arid  Margaret 
sighed,  and  said  :  "  Poor  Luke,  he 
might  come  in  for  her,  if  he  could 
know  his  place,  and  treat  her  like  a 
married  wife."  On  this  being  com- 
municated to  Luke,  he  hesitated. 
"  Pshaw  !  "  said  Catherine,  "  prom- 
ises are  pie-crusts.  Promise  her  all 
the  world,  sooner  than  sit  outside  like 
a  fool,  when  a  word  will  carry  you 
inside.  Now  you  humor  her  in  every- 
thing, and  then,  if  poor  Gerard  come 
not  home,  and  claim  iier,  you  will  be 
sure  to  have  her  —  in  time.  A  lone 
woman  is  aye  to  be  tired  out,  thou 
foolish  boy." 


CHAPTER  LXXX. 

BROxnER  Clement  had  taught 
and  preached  in  Basle  more  than  a 
twelvemonth,  when  one  day  Jerome 
stood  before  him,  dusty,  with  a  tri- 
umphant glance  in  his  eye. 

"  Give  the  glory  to  God,  brother 
Clement ;  thou  canst  now  wend  to 
England  with  me." 

"  I  am  ready,  brother  Jerome ;  and, 
expecting  thee  these  many  months, 
have  in  the  intervals  of  teaching  and 
devotion  studied  the  English  tongue 
somewhat  closely." 

"  'T  was  well  thought  of,"  said 
Jerome.  He  then  toUr  him  he  had 
but  delayed  till  he  could  obtain  ex- 
traordinary powers  from  the  Pope  to 
collect  money  for  the  Church's  use  in 
England,  and  to  hear  confession  in 
all  the  secular  monasteries.  "  So 
now  gird  up  thy  loins,  and  let  us  go 
forth  and  deal  a  good  blow  for  the 
Cliurch,  and  against  the  Francis- 
cans." 

The  two  friars  went  preaching 
down  the  Rhine,  for  England.  In 
the  larger  places  they  both  preached. 
At  the  smaller  they  often  divided, 
and  took  different  sides  of  the  river, 
and   met  again   at  some    appointed 


spot.  Botli  were  able  orators,  but  in 
different  styles. 

Jerome's  was  noble  and  impassive, 
but  a  little  contracted  in  religious 
topics,  and  a  trifle  monotonous  in 
delivery  compared  with  Clement's, 
though  in  truth  not  so  compared 
with  most  preachers'. 

Clement's  was  full  of  variety,  and 
often  remarkably  colloquial.  In  its 
general  flow  tender  and  gently  win- 
ning, it  curled  round  the  reason  and 
the  heart.  But  it  always  rose  with 
the  rising  thought ;  and  so  at  times 
Clement  soared  as  far  above  Jerome 
as  his  level  speaking  was  below  him. 
Indeed,  in  these  noble  hearts  he  was 
all  that  we  have  read  of  inspired 
prophet  or  heathen  orator :  Vohemens 
ut  procella,  excitatus  ut  torrens,  in- 
census  ut  fidmen,  tonabat,  fulgurabat, 
et  rapidis  eloquential  fluctibus  cuncta 
proruebat  et  pcrturbabat. 

I  would  give  literal  specimens,  but 
for  five  objections  :  it  is  ditticult  ; 
time  is  short ;  I  have  done  it  else- 
where; an  able  imitator  has  since 
done  it  better  ;  and  similarity,  a  vir- 
tue in  peas,  is  a  vice  in  books. 

But  (not  to  evade  the  matter  en- 
tirely) Clement  used  secretly  to  try 
and  learn  the  recent  events  and  the 
besetting  sin  of  each  town  he  was  to 
preach  in. 

But  Jerome  the  unbending  scorned 
to  go  out  of  his  way  for  any  peo- 
ple's vices.  At  one  great  town  some 
leagues  from  the  Rhine,  they  mount- 
ed the  same  pulpit  in  turn.  Jerome 
preached  against  vanity  in  dress,  a 
favorite  theme  of  his.  He  was  elo- 
quent and  satirical,  and  the  people 
listened  with  complacency.  It  was  a 
vice  that  they  were  little  given  to. 

Clement  preached  against  drunken- 
ness. It  was  a  besetting  sin,  and 
sacred  from  preaching  in  these  parts ; 
for  the  clergy  themselves  were  in- 
fected with  it,  and  popular  prejudice 
protected  it.  Clement  delt  it  merci- 
less blows  out  of  Holy  Writ  and 
worldly  experience.  A  crime  itself, 
it  was  the  nursing-mother  of  most 
crimes,  especially  theft  and  murder. 


354 


THK  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


He  reminded  them  of  a  parricide  that 
had  hitely  hecn  eomniittcd  in  their 
town  l)y  an  honest  man  in  lifjuor,  and 
also  liow  a  l)and  of  (huinkards  liad 
roasted  one  of  their  own  comrades 
alive  at  a  neiphhorinj;  village.  "  Yonr 
last  prince,"  said  he,  "  is  reported  to 
have  died  of  apoj)lexy,  but  well  you 
know  he  died  of  drink  ;  ami  of  your 
aldermen  one  perished  miserably  last 
month  dead  drunk,  sutfocated  in  a 
puddle.  Your  children's  hacks  go 
bare  that  you  may  till  your  bellies 
with  that  which  makes  you  the  worst 
of  beasts,  silly  a.s  calves,  yet  fierce  as 
boars ;  and  drives  your  families  to 
need,  and  your  souls  to  hell.  I  tell 
ye  your  town,  ay,  and  your  very  na- 
tion, would  sink  to  the  bottom  of 
mankind  did  your  women  drink  as 
you  do.  And  how  long  will  they  be 
temperate,  and,  contrary  to  nature, 
resist  the  example  of  their  husbands 
and  fathers  ?  Vice  ne'er  yet  stood 
still.  Ye  must  ameiul  yourselves  or 
see  them  come  down  to  your  mark. 
Already  in  Bohemia  they  drink 
along  with  the  men.  How  shows  a 
drunken  woman  ?  Would  you  love 
to  see  your  wives  drunken,  your 
mothers  drunken  ?  "  At  this  there 
was  a  shout  of  horror,  for  mediaival 
audiences  had  not  learned  to  sit 
mumchance  at  a  moving  sermon. 
"  Ah,  that  comes  home  to  you,"  cried 
the  friar.  "  What '?  madmen  !  think 
you  it  doth  not  more  shock  the  all- 
pure  God  to  see  a  man  his  noblest 
work  turned  to  a  drunken  beast  than 
it  can  shock  you  creatures  of  sin  and 
unreason  to  sec  a  woman  turned  into 
a  thing  no  better  nor  worse  than 
yourselves  ?  " 

He  ended  with  two  pictures,  —  a 
drunkard's  house  and  family,  and  a 
sober  man's  ;  both  so  true  and  dra- 
matic in  all  their  details  that  the 
wives  fell  all  to  "  ohing  "  and  "  ah- 
ing,"  and  "  Eh,  but  that  is  a  true 
word." 

This  discourse  caused  quite  an  up- 
roar. The  hearers  formed  knots  ;  the 
men  were  indign-ant;  so  the  women 
flattered  them,  and  took  their   part 


openly  against  the  preacher.  A  mar- 
rietl  man  had  a  right  to  a  drop  ;  he 
needed  it,  working  for  all  the  family. 
And  for  their  ])art  they  did  not  caro 
to  change  their  men  for  milksops. 

The  double  faces  !  That  very  even- 
ing a  band  of  men  caught  near  a 
hundred  of  them  round  brother 
Clement,  filling  his  wallet  with  the 
best,  and  offering  him  the  very  roses 
otf  their  lu'ads,  and  kissing  his  frock, 
and  blessing  hitn  "  for  taking  in 
hand  to  mend  their  sots." 

Jerome  thought  this  sermon  too 
earthly. 

"  Drunkenness  is  not  heresy,  Clem- 
ent, that  a  whole  sermon  should  be 
preached  against  it." 

As  they  went  on  he  found  to  his 
surprise  that  Clement's  semions  sunk 
into  his  hearers  deeper  than  his  own  ; 
made  them  listen,  think, cry,  and  some- 
times even  amend  their  ways.  "  He 
hath  the  art  of  sinking  to  their  peg," 
thought  Jerome.  "  Yet  he  can  soar 
high  enough  at  times." 

Upon  the  whole,  it  ])uzzled  Jerome, 
who  had  a  secret  sense  of  superiority 
to  his  tenderer  brother.  And,  after 
about  two  hundred  miles  of  it,  it  got 
to  displease  him  as  well  as  puzzle 
him.  But  he  tried  to  check  this 
sentiment  as  petty  and  unworthy. 
"  Souls  differ  like  locks,"  said  he, 
"  and  preachers  must  difier  like  keys, 
or  the  fewer  should  the  Church  open 
for  God  to  pass  in.  And,  certes,  this 
novice  hath  the  key  to  these  North- 
ern souls,  being  himself  a  Northern 
man." 

And  so  they  came  slowly  down  the 
Rhine,  sometimes  drifting  a  few  miles 
on  the  stream,  but  in  general  Avalk- 
ing  by  the  banks  preaching,  and 
teaching,  and  confessing  sinners  in 
the  towns  and  villages ;  and  they 
reached  the  to^vn  of  Dusseldorf. 

There  was  the  little  quay  where 
Gerard  and  Denys  had  taken  boat  up 
the  Rhine. "  The  friars  landed  on  it 
There  were  the  streets ;  there  was 
"  The  Silver  Lion."  Nothing  had 
changed  but  he,  who  walked  throuj^h 
it  barefoot,  with  his  heart  calm  and 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH, 


355 


cold,  his  hands  across  his  breast,  and 
his  eyes  bent  meekly  on  the  ground, 
a  true  sou  of  Douiiuic  and  Holy 
Church. 


CHAPTER    LXXXI. 

"  Eli,"  said  Catherine,  "  answer 
me  one  question  like  a  man,  and  I  Tl 
ask  no  more  to-day.  What  is  worm- 
wood 1  " 

Eli  looked  a  little  helpless  at  this 
sudden  demand  upon  his  faculties ; 
but  soon  recovered  enough  to  say  it 
was  something  that  tasted  main  bit- 
ter. 

"  That  is  a  fair  answer,  my  man, 
but  not  the  one  I  look  for." 

"  Then  answer  it  yourself" 

"  And  shall.  Wormwood  is  —  to 
have  two  in  the  house  a  doing  naught, 
but  waiting  for  thy  shoes  and  mine." 
Eli  groaned.     The  slurft  struck  home. 

"  Methinks  waiting  for  their  best 
friend's  coffin,  that  and  nothing  to 
do  are  enough  to  make  them  worse 
than  nature  meant.  Wliy  not  set 
them  up,  somewhere,  to  give  'em  a 
chance  ' " 

Eli  said  he  was  Avilling,  but  afraid 
they  would  drink  and  gamble  their 
very  shelves  away. 

"  Nay,"  said  Catherine.  "  Dost 
take  me  for  a  simpleton  1  Of  course 
I  mean  to  watch  them  at  starting,  and 
drive  them  wi'  a  loose  rein,  as  the 
saying   is." 

"  Where  did  you  think  of?  Not 
here,  to  divide  our  own  custom." 

"  Not  likely.  I  say  Rotterdam, 
against  the  world.  Then  I  could 
start  them." 

O  self-deception  !  The  true  mo- 
tive of  all  this  was  to  get  near  little 
Gerard. 

After  many  discussions,  and  eager 
promises  of  amendment  on  these 
terms  from  Cornells  and  Sybrandt, 
Catherine  went  to  Rotterdam  shop- 
hunting,  and  took  Kate  with  her, 
for  a  change.  They  soon  found  one, 
and  in  a  good  street,  but  it  was 
Builly   out  of  order.     However  they 


got  it  cheaper  for  that,  and  instantly 
set  about  brushing  it  up,  fitting 
proper  shelves  for  the  business,  and 
making  the  dwelling-house  habitable. 

Luke  Peterson  was  always  asking 
Margaret  what  he  could  do  for  her. 
The  answer  used  to  be  in  a  sad  tone, 
"Nothing,  Luke,  nothing." 

"  What,  you  that  are  so  clever,  can 
you  think  of  nothing  for  me  to  do  for 
you  1  " 

"  Nothing,  Luke,  nothing." 

But  at  last  she  varied  the  reply 
thus  :  "  If  you  could  make  something 
to  help  my  sweet  sister  Kate  about." 

The  slave  of  love  consented 
joyfully,  and  soon  made  Kate  a  little 
cart,  and  cushioned  it,  and  yoked 
himself  into  it,  and  at  eventide  drew 
her  out  of  the  town,  and  along  the 
pleasant  boulevard,  Margaret  and 
Catherine  walking  beside.  It  looked 
a  happier  party  than  it  was. 

Kate,  for  one,  enjoyed  it  keenly ; 
for  little  Gerard  was  put  in  her  lap, 
and  she  doted  on  him  ;  and  it  was 
like  a  cherub  carried  by  a  little  angel, 
or  a  rosebud  lying  in  the  cup  of  a 
lily. 

So  the  vulgar  jeered  :  and  asked 
Luke  how  a  thistle  tasted,  and  if  his 
mistress  could  not  afford  one  with 
four  legs,  etc. 

Luke  did  not  mind  these  jeors ;  but 
Kate  minded  them  for  him. 

"  Thou  hast  made  the  cart  for  me, 
good  Luke,"  said  she.  "  'T  was 
much.  I  did  ill  to  let  thee  draw  me 
too  ;  we  can  afford  to  pay  some  poor 
soul  for  that.  I  love  my  rides,  and 
to  carry  little  Gerard  ;  but  I  'd  liever 
ride  no  more  than  thou  be  mocked 
for 't." 

"  Much  I  care  for  their  tongues," 
said  Luke ;  "  if  I  did  care  I  'd  knock 
their  heads  together.  I  shall  draw 
}'ou  till  my  mistress  says  give  over." 

"  Luke,  if  you  obey  Kate,  you  will 
oblige  me." 

"  Then  I  will  obey  Kate." 

An  honorable  exception  to  popu- 
lar humor  was  Jorian  Ketel's  wife. 
"  That  is  strength  well  laid  out,   to 


356 


THE   CLOISTKR   AND   Till:   HKARTII. 


draw  the  weak.  And  her  prayers 
will  be  your  fjucrdon  :  she  is  not  lonjj 
for  this  worlil  :  she  sniilctli  in  ])ain." 
These  were  the  words  of  Joan. 

Sinfjle-niinde<l  Luke  answered  that 
lie  tlid  not  want  the  poor  lass's 
prayers  ;  he  did  it  to  please  his  mis- 
tress, Mar;;aret. 

After  that  Luke  often  pressed  Mar- 
garet to  ^ive  hira  something  to  do  — 
witliont  sueccss. 

But  one  day,  as  if  tired  with  his 
iinj)ortunin;,',  she  turned  on  him,  and 
said  with  a  look  and  aceent  I  should 
in  vain  try  to  eonvey  :  — 

"  I'ind  me  my  boy's  father  !  " 


CHAPTER    LXXXII. 

"  Mistress,  they  all  say  he  is 
dead." 

"  Not  so.  They  feed  me  still  with 
hopes." 

"  Ay,  to  your  face,  but  behind 
your  back  they  all  say  he  is  dead." 

At  this  nvelation  Marj^aret's  tears 
benjan  to  How. 

Lnke  whimpered  for  com])any. 
He  liad  tlie  body  of  a  man,  but  the 
luart  of  a  frirl. 

"  Prithee,  weep  not  so,  sweet  mis- 
tress," said  he.  "  I  'd  brinrj  him 
back  to  life,  an  I  could,  rather  than 
see  thee  weep  so  sore." 
^  Margaret  said  she  thought  she  was 
weeping  because  they  were  so  double- 
tongued  with  her. 

She  recovered  herself,  and,  laying 
her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  said  sol- 
emnly :  "  Luke,  he  is  not  dead.  Dy- 
ing men  are  known  to  have  a  strange 
sight.  And  listen,  Luke !  My  poor 
father,  when  he  was  a  dying,  and  I, 
simple  fool,  Avas  so  happy,  thinking 
he  was  going  to  get  well  altogether, 
he  said  to  mother  and  me,  —  he  was 
sitting  in  that  very  chair  where  you 
are  now,  and  mother  was  as  might  be 
here,  and  I  Avas  yonder  making  a 
sleeve,  —  said  he,  '  I  see  him!  1  see 
him!'  Just  so.  Not  like  a  failing 
man  at  all,   but  all   o'   fire.     '  Sore 


disfigured  —  on  a  great  river — com* 
ing  this  way.' 

"  Ah,  Luke,  if  you  were  a  woman, 
and  had  the  feeling  fur  me  you  think 
you  liave,  you  would  pity  me,  and 
find  him  for  me.  Take  a  thought ! 
The  father  of  my  child  !  " 

"  Alack,  I  would,  if  I  knew  how," 
said  Luke.     "  But  how  can  I  ?  " 

"  Nay,  of  course  you  cannot.  I  am 
mad  to  think  it.  Put  O,  if  any  one 
really  cared  for  me,  they  would;  that 
is  all  I  know." 

Luke  reflected  in  silence  for  some 
time. 

"  The  old  folk  all  say  dying  men 
can  see  more  than  living  wiglits. 
Let  me  think  :  fur  my  mind  cannot 
gallop  like  thine.  On  a  great  river? 
Well,  tlie  Maas  is  a  great  river." 
He  ])ondercd  on. 

"  Coming  this  way  ?  Then  if 
't  was  the  Maas,  he  Avould  have  been 
here  by  this  time,  so  't  is  not  the 
Maas.  The  Rhine  is  a  great  river, 
greater  than  the  Maas,  and  very  long. 
1  think  it  will  be  the  Rhine." 

"And  so  do  I,  Luke;  for  Dcnys 
hade  him  come  down  the  Rhine. 
Put,  even  if  it  is,  he  may  turn  ofi'  be- 
fore he  comes  anigh  his  l)irthj)laee. 
He  does  not  pine  for  me  as  I  for  him  ; 
that  is  clear.  Luke,  do  you  not 
think  he  has  deserted  me '!  "  She 
wanted  him  to  contradict  her  ;  but  he 
said  :  "  It  looks  very  like  it ;  what 
a  fool  he  must  be !  " 

"  What  do  we  know  ?  "  objected 
Margaret,  imploringly. 

"  Let  me  think  again,"  said  Luke. 
"  I  cannot  gallop." 

The  result  of  this  meditation  was 
this.  He  knew  a  station  about  sixty 
miles  up  the  Rhine,  where  all  the  pub- 
lic boats  put  in,  and  he  would  go  to 
that  station,  and  try  and  cut  the  truant 
off.  To  be  sure  he  did  not  even  know 
him  by  sight ;  but  as  each  boat  came 
in  he  would  mingle  with  the  passen- 
gers, and  ask  if  one  Gterard  was  there. 
"  And,  mistress,  if  you  were  to  give 
me  a  bit  of  a  letter  to  him  ;  for,  with 
us  being  strangers,  mayhap  a  won't 
believe  a  word  I  say." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


35? 


"  Good,  kind,  thoughtful  Luke,  I 
will  (how  I  have  undervalued  thee!). 
But  give  me  till  supper-time  to  get  it 
wTit."  At  supper  she  put  a  letter 
into  his  hand  with  a  blush  :  it  was  a 
long  letter  tied  round  with  silk  after 
the  fashion  of  the  day,  and  sealed  over 
the  knot. 

Luke  weighed  it  in  his  hand  with  a 
shade  of  discontent,  and  said  to  her 
very  gravely  :  "  Say  your  father  was 
not  dreaming,  and  say  I  have  the 
luck  to  fall  in  with  this  man,  and  say 
he  should  turn  out  a  better  bit  of 
stuff  than  I  think  him,  and  come 
home  to  you  then  and  there,  —  what 
is  to  become  o'  me  ?  " 

Margaret  colored  to  her  very  brow. 
"  0  Luke,  Heaven  will  reward  thee. 
And  I  shall  fall  on  my  knees  and 
bless  thee ;  and  I  shall  love  thee  all 
my  days,  sweet  Luke,  as  a  mother 
does  her  son.  I  am  so  old  by  thee : 
trouble  ages  the  heart.  Thou  shalt 
not  go  :  't  is  not  fair  of  me ;  Love 
maketh  us  to  be  all  self." 

"  Humph  ! "  said  Luke.  "  And  if," 
resumed  he,  in  the  same  grave  way, 
"  yon  scapegrace  shall  read  thy  letter, 
and  hear  me  tell  him  how  thou  pinest 
for  him,  and  yet,  being  a  traitor,  or 
a  mere  idiot,  will  not  turn  to  thee,  — 
what  shall  become  of  me  then  ? 
Must  I  die  a  bachelor,  and  thou  fare 
lonely  to  thy  grave  neither  maid, 
wife,  nor  widow  ?  " 

Margaret  panted  with  fear  and 
emotion  at  this  terrible  piece  of  good 
sense,  and  the  plain  question  that  fol- 
lowed it.  But  at  last  she  faltered 
out,  "  If,  which  our  lady  be  merciful 
to  me,  and  forbid  —     Oh  !  " 

"  Well,  mistress." 

"  If  he  should  read  my  letter,  and 
hear  thy  words,  —  and,  sweet  Luke, 
be  just  and  tell  him  what  a  lovely 
babe  he  hath,  fatherless,  fatherless. 
O  Luke,  can  he  be  so  cruel '?  " 

"I  trow  not :  but  if  ?  " 

"  Then  he  will  give  thee  up  my 
marriage  lines,  and  I  shall  be  an 
honest  woman  ;  and  a  wretched  one  ; 
and  my  boy  will  not  be  a  bastard  ; 
and,  of  course,  then  we  could  both  go 


into  any  honest  man's  house  tha4 
would  be  troubled  with  us  :  and  even 
for  thy  goodness  this  day,  I  will  —  I 
will  —  ne'er  be  so  ungrateful  as  to  go 
past  thy  door  to  another  man's." 

"  Ay,  but  will  you  come  in  at  mine  ? 
Answer  me  that ! " 

"  0,  ask  me  not !  Some  day,  per- 
haps, when  my  wounds  leave  bleed- 
ing. Alas,  I  '11  try.  If  I  don't  fling 
myself  and  my  child  into  the  Maas. 
Do  not  go,  Luke  !  do  not  think  of  go- 
ing !  'T  is  all  madness  from  first  to 
last." 

But  Luke  was  as  slow  to  forego  an 
idea  as  to  form  one. 

His  reply  showed  how  fast  love  was 
making  a  man  of  him.  "  Well,"  said 
he,  "  madness  is  something,  any  way ; 
and  I  am  tired  of  doing  nothing  for 
thee  :  and  I  am  no  great  talker.  To- 
morrow, at  peep  of  day,  I  start.  But, 
hold,  I  have  no  money.  My  mother, 
she  takes  care  of  all  mine;  and  I 
ne'er  see  it  again." 

Then  Margaret  took  out  Cathe- 
rine's gold  angel  which  had  escaped 
so  often,  and  gave  it  to  Luke ;  and 
he  set  out  on  his  mad  errand. 

It  did  not,  however,  seem  so  mad 
to  him  as  to  us.  It  was  a  supersti- 
tious age  ;  and  Luke  acted  on  the 
dying  man's  dream,  or  vision,  or  illu- 
sion, or  whatever  it  was,  much  as  we 
should  act  on  respectable  information. 

But  Catherine  was  downright  an- 
gry when  she  heard  of  it.  To  send 
the  poor  lad  on  such  a  wild-goose 
chase  !  "  But  you  are  like  a  many 
more  girls ;  and,  mark  my  words,  by 
the  time  you  have  worn  that  Luke 
fairly  out,  and  made  him  as  sick  of 
you  as  a  dog,  you  will  turn  as  fond 
on  him  as  a  cow  on  a  calf,  and  '  Too 
late  '  will  be  the  cry." 

©fje  Cloister. 

The  two  friars  reached  Holland 
from  the  south  just  twelve  hours  after 
Luke  started  up  the  Rhine. 

Thus,  wild-goose  chase  or  not,  the 
parties  were  nearing  each  other,  and 
rapidly,  too.  For  Jerome,  unable  to 
preach  iu  Low  Dutch,  now  began  to 


858 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


push  on  towards  the  cojist,  anxious 
to  get  to  Eiij^laiid  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble. 

And,  havinp:  the  stream  with  tlicm, 
the  friars  wouhl  in  point  of  fact  have 
missed  Luke  by  passinj^  him  in  full 
stream  hclow  his  station,  but  for  the 
incident  which  1  am  about  to  relate. 

About  twenty  miles  above  the  sta- 
tion Luke  wa.s  makin;^  for,  Clement 
lauded  to  ])rea(h  in  a  larj^e  villaj^e  ; 
and,  towards  the  end  of  the  sermon, 
he  noticed  a  pray  nun  wcej)in<j. 

lie  spoke  to  her  kindly,  and  asked 
her  what  was  her  grief.  "  Nay,"  said 
she,  "  't  is  not  for  myself  flow  these 
tears ;  't  is  for  my  lost  friend.  Thy 
words  reminded  me  of  what  she  was, 
and  what  she  is,  poor  wretch.     But 

ion  arc  a  Dominican,  and  1  am  a 
"ranciscan  nun." 

"  It  matters  little,  my  sister,  if  we 
are  both  Christians,  and  if  I  can  aid 
thee  aufiht." 

The  nun  looked  in  liis  face,  and 
said  :  "  These  are  stran}j:e  words,  but 
meihinks  they  are  frood  ;  and  thy 
lips  are  O  most  elocpient.  I  will  tell 
thee  our  f^rief." 

She  then  let  him  know  that  a  youno; 
nun,  the  darlinj;  of  the  convent,  and 
her  bosom  friend,  had  been  lured 
away  from  her  vows,  and,  after  va- 
rious gradations  of  sin,  was  actually 
living  in  a  small  inn  as  chamber- 
maid, in  reality  as  a  decoy,  and  was 
known  to  be  selling  her  favors  to  the 
wealthier  customers.  She  added, 
"  Anywhere  else  we  might  by  kindly 
violence  force  her  away  from  perdi- 
tion. But  this  innkeeper  was  the 
sen-ant  of  the  fierce  baron  on  the 
height  there,  and  hath  his  ear  still, 
and  he  would  burn  our  convent  to 
the  ground,  were  we  to  take  her  by 
force." 

"  Moreover,  souls  will  not  be  saved 
hy  brute  force,"  said  Clement. 

While  they  were  talking,  Jerome 
came  up,  and  Clement  persuaded  him 
to  lie  at  the  convent  that  night. 
But  when  in  the  morning  Clement 
told  him  he  had  had  a  long  talk  with 
the  abbess,  and  that  she  was  very  sad, 


and  he  had  jiromised  her  to  try  and 
win  l)ack  her  nun,  Jerome  objected, 
aiul  said  :  "  It  was  not  their  business, 
and  was  a  waste  of  time."  Clement, 
however,  was  no  longer  a  mere  pupil. 
He  stood  firm,  and  at  last  they  agreed 
that  Jerome  should  go  forward,  and 
secure  their  passage  in  the  next  ship 
for  England,  and  Clement  be  allowed 
time  to  make  his  well-meant  but  idle 
experiment. 

About  ten  o'clock  that  day  a  fig- 
ure in  a  horseman's  cloak,  and  great 
boots  to  match,  and  a  large  flapping 
felt  hat,  stood  like  a  statue  near  the 
auberge,  where  was  the  apostate  nun, 
Mary.  The  friar  thus  disguised  was 
at  that  moment  truly  wretched. 
These  ardent  natures  undertake  won- 
ders ;  but  are  dashed  when  they  come 
hand  to  hand  with  the  sickening  dif- 
ficulties. But  then,  as  their  hearts 
are  steel,  though  their  nerves  are  any- 
thing but  iron,  they  turn  not  back, 
but,  i)anting  and  dispirited,  struggle 
on  to  the  last. 

Clement  hesitated  long  at  the  door, 
prayed  for  help  and  wisdom,  and  at 
last  entered  the  inn  and  sat  down 
faint  at  heart,  and  with  his  body  in  a 
cold  perspiration. 

But  outside  he  was  another  man. 
He  called  lustily  for  a  cup  of  wine  : 
it  was  brought  him  by  the  landlord. 
He  paid  for  it  with  money  the  con- 
vent had  supplied  him,  and  made  a 
show  of  drinking  it. 

"  Landlord,"  said  he,  "  I  hear 
there  is  a  fair  chambermaid  in  thy 
house." 

"  Ay,  stranger,  the  buxomest  in 
Holland.  But  she  gives  not  her  com- 
pany to  all  comers,  only  to  good 
customers." 

Friar  Clement  dangled  a  massive 
gold  chain  in  the  landlord's  sight. 
He  laughed,  and  shouted :  "  Here, 
Janet,  here  is  a  lover  for  thee  would 
bind  thee  in  chains  of  gold;  and  a 
tall  lad  into  the  bargain,  I  promise 
thee." 

"  Then  I  am  in  double  luck,"  said 
a  female  voice  ;  "  send  him  hither." 

Clement     rose,     shuddered,     and 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE   HEARTH. 


359 


passed  into  the  room  where  Janet 
was  seated  plav-ing  with  a  piece  of 
work,  and  laying  it  down  every  min- 
ute to  sing  a  mutilated  fragment  of  a 
song.  For,  in  her  mode  of  life,  she 
had  not  the  patience  to  carry  any- 
thing out. 

After  a  few  words  of  greeting,  the 
disguised  visitor  asked  her  if  they 
coidd  not  be  more  private  some- 
where. « 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  she.  And  she 
rose  and  smiled,  and  went  tripping 
before  him.  He  followed,  groaning 
inwardly,  and  sore  perplexed. 

"  There,"  said  she.  "  Have  no 
fear  !  Nobody  ever  comes  here,  but 
such  as  pay  for  the  privilege." 

Clement  looked  round  the  room, 
and  prayed  silently  for  wisdom.  Then 
he  went  softly,  and  closed  the  window- 
ehuttcr  carefully. 

"  What  on  earth  is  that  for  ?  " 
said  Janet,  in  some  uneasiness. 

"  Sweetheart,"  whispered  the  vis- 
itor, with  a  mysterious  air,  "  it  is  that 
God  may  not  see  us." 

"Madman,"  said  Janet,  "think 
vou  a  wooden  shutter  can  keep  out 
his  eye  1  " 

"  Nay,  I  know  not.  Perchance  he 
has  too  much  on  hand  to  notice  tis. 
But  I  would  not  the  saints  and  an- 
gels should  see  us.     Would  you  ?  " 

"  My  poor  soul,  hope  not  to  es- 
cape their  sight !  The  only  way  is 
not  to  think  of  them ;  for,  if  you  do, 
it  poisons  your  cup.  For  two  pins 
I  'd  run  and  leave  thee.  Art  pleas- 
ant company  in  sooth." 

"  After  all,  girl,  so  that  men  see  us 
not,  what  signify  God  and  the  saints 
seeing  us  ?  Feel  this  chain  !  'T  is 
virgin  gold.  I  shall  cut  two  of  these 
heavy  jinks  otY"  for  thee." 

"  Ah  !  now  thy  discourse  is  to  the 
point."  And  she  handled  the  chain 
greedily.  "  Why,  't  is  as  massy  as 
the  chain  round  the  Virgin's  neck  at 
the  conv —  "  She  did  not  finish  the 
word. 

"  Whisht !  whisht !  whisht !     'T  is 
i(.     And  thou  shalt  have  thy  share 
But  betray  me  not." 
16 


"  Monster  !  "  cried  Janet,  drawing 
back  from  him  with  repugnance, 
"  what,  rob  the  blessed  Virgin  of  hei 
chain,  and  give  it  to  an  —  " 

"  You  are  none,"  cried  Clement^ 
exultingly,  "  or  you  had  not  recked 
for  that. '  Marv  !  " 

"  Ah !  ah  !  ah  !  " 

"  Thy  patron  saint,  whose  chah? 
this  is,  sends  me  to  greet  thee." 

She  ran  screaming  to  the  window, 
and  began  to  undo  the  shutters. 

Her  fingers  trembled,  and  Clement 
had  time  to  debarrass  himself  of  hi« 
boots,  and  his  hat,  before  the  light 
streamed  in  upon  him.  He  then  let 
his  cloak  quietly  fall,  and  stood  be- 
fore her,  a  Dominican  friar,  calm  and 
majestic  as  a  statue,  and  held  his  cru- 
cifix towering  over  her  with  a  loving, 
sad,  and  solemn  look,  that  somehow 
relieved  her  of  the  physical  part  of 
fear,  but  crushed  her  with  religious 
terror  and  remorse.  She  crouched 
and  cowered  against  the  wall. 

"  Mary,"  said  he,  gently,  "  one 
word  !     Are  you  happy  ?  " 

"  As  happy  as  I  shall  be  in  hell." 

"  And  they  are  not  happy  at  the 
convent ;  they  weep  for  you." 

"  For  me  ?  " 

"  Day  and  night ;  above  all,  the 
sister  Ursula." 

"  Poor  Ursula !  "  And  the  strayed 
nun  began  to  weep  herself  at  the 
thought  of  her  friend. 

"  The  angels  weep  still  more.  Wilt 
not  dry  all  their  tears  in  earth  and 
heaven,  and  save  thyself  ■?  " 

"  Ah  !  would  I  could ;  but  it  is  too 
late." 

"  Satan  avaunt,"  cried  the  monk, 
sternly.  "  'T  is  thy  favorite  tempta- 
tion ;  and  thou,  Marj^,  listen  not  to 
the  enemy  of  man,  belying  God,  and 
whispering  despair.  I  who  come  to 
save  thee  have  been  a  far  greater  sin- 
ner than  thou.  Come,  Mary,  sin, 
thou  seest,  is  not  so  sweet  e'en  in  this 
world  as  holiness  :  and  eternity  is  at 
the  door." 

"  How  can  they  ever  receive  me 
again  1  " 

"  'T  is  their  worthiness  thou  doubt- 


360 


THE  CLOISTER  AND   THE  HEARTH. 


est  now.  But  in  truth  they  pine  for 
thee.  'Twas  in  pity  of  their  tears 
that  I,  a  Dominican,  undertook  this 
task ;  and  broke  the  rule  of  my  order 
by  entering  an  inn ;  and  broke  it 
again  by  donning  these  lay  vestments. 
But  all  is  well  done,  and  quit  for  a 
light  penance,  if  thou  wilt  let  us 
rescue  thy  soul  from  this  den  of 
wolves,  and  bring  thee  back  to  thy 
vows." 

The  nun  gazed  at  him  with  tears 
in  her  eyes. 

"  And  thou,  a  Dominican,  hast 
done  this  for  a  daughter  of  St.  Fran- 
cis !  Why,  the  Franciscans  and 
Dominicans  hate  one  another." 

"  Ay,  my  daughter  ;  but  Francis 
and  Dominic  love  one  another." 

The  recreant  nun  seemed  struck 
and  aftected  by  this  answer. 

Clement  now  reminded  her  how 
shocked  she  had  been  that  the  Vir- 
gin should  be  robbed  of  her  chain. 
"But  see  now,"  said  he,  "the  con- 
vent and  the  Virgin  too  think  ten 
times  more  of  their  poor  nun  than 
of  golden  chains  ;  for  they  freely 
trusted  tlicir  chain  to  me  a  stranger, 
that  ])eradventure  the  sight  of  it 
m'vj^ht  touch  their  lost  Mary  and  re- 
mind her  of  their  love."  Finally  he 
showed  her  with  such  terrible  sim- 
plicity the  end  of  her  present  course, 
and  on  the  other  hand  so  revived  her 
dormant  memories  and  better  feel- 
ings, that  she  kneeled  sobbing  at  his 
feet,  and  owned  she  had  never  known 
happiness  nor  peace  since  she  be- 
trayed her  vows  ;  and  said  she  would 
go  back  if  he  would  go  with  her ;  but 
alone  she  dared  not,  could  not :  even 
if  she  reached  the  gate  she  could 
never  enter.  How  could  she  face  the 
abbess  and  the  sisters  '?  He  told  her 
he  would  go  with  her  as  joyfully  as 
the  shepherd  bears  a  strayed  lamb  to 
the  fold. 

But,  when  he  iirged  her  to  go  at 
once,  up  spi-ung  a  crop  of  those  pro- 
digiously petty  difficulties  that  en- 
tangle her  sex,  like  silken  nets,  like 
iron  cobwebs. 

He  quietly  swept  them  aside. 


"  But  how  can  I  walk  beside  thee 
in  this  habit  ?  " 

"  I  have  brought  thee  gown  and 
cowl  of  thy  holy  order.  Hide  thy 
bravery  with  them.  And  leave  thj 
shoes  as  I  leave  these  "  (pointing  to 
his  horseman's  boots). 

She  collected  her  jewels  and  orna- 
ments. 

"  What  are  these  for  ?  "  inquired 
Clement. 

"  To  present  to  the  convent,  fa- 
ther." 

"  Their  source  is  too  impure." 

"But,"  objected  the  penitent,  "it 
would  be  a  sin  to  leave  them  here. 
They  can  be  sold  to  feed  the  poor." 

"  Mary,  fix  thine  eye  on  tliis  cruci- 
fix, and  trample  those  devilish  bau- 
bles beneath  thy  feet." 

She  hesitated  ;  but  soon  threw 
them  down  and  trampled  on  them. 

"  Now  open  tlie  window  and  fling 
them  out  on  that  dunghill  'T  is 
well  done.  So  pass  the  wages  of  sin 
from  thy  hands,  its  glittering  yoke 
from  thy  neck,  its  pollution  from  thy 
soul.  Away,  daughter  of  St.  Fran- 
cis, we  tarry  in  this  vile  place  too 
long."     She  followed  him. 

But  they  were  not  clear  yet. 

At  first  the  landlord  was  so  as- 
tounded at  seeing  a  black  friar  and 
a  gray  nun  pass  through  his  kitchen 
from  the  inside,  that  he  gaped,  and 
muttered,  "  Why,  what  mummery  is 
this  ?  "  But  he  soon  comprehended 
the  matter,  and  whipped  in  between 
the  fugitives  and  the  door.  "  What 
ho  !  Reuben  !  Carl !  Gavin  !  here  is 
a  false  friar  spiriting  away  our  Janet." 

The  men  came  running  in  with 
threatening  looks.  The  friar  rushed 
at  them,  crucifix  in  hand.  "  For- 
bear," he  cried,  in  a  stentorian  voice. 
"  She  is  a  holy  nun  returning  to  her 
vows.  The  hand  that  touches  her 
cowl,  or  her  robe,  to  stay  her,  it  shall 
wither,  his  body  shall  lie  imburied, 
cursed  by  Rome,  and  his  soul  shall 
roast  in  eternal  fire."  They  shrank 
back  as  if  a  flame  had  met  them. 
"  And  thou,  —  miserable  pander 
er !  —  " 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


361 


He  did  not  cud  the  sentence  in 
words,  but  seized  the  man  by  tlie 
neck,  and,  stronj;  as  a  lion  in  his  mo- 
ments of  Jiot  excitement,  whirled 
him  furiously  from  the  door  and  sent 
hira  all  across  the  room,  pitching 
headforemost  on  to  the  stone  floor; 
then  tore  the  door  o{)en  and  carried 
the  screaming;  nun  out  into  tlic  road. 
"  Hush!  poor  trembler,"  he  gasped; 
"  they  dare  not  molest  thee  on  the 
high-road.     Away  ! " 

The  landlord  lay  terrified,  half 
stunned,  and  bleeding ;  and  ]\Iary, 
though  slie  often  looked  back  appre- 
hensively, saw  no  more  of  him. 

On  the  road  he  bade  her  obseiTC 
his  impetuosity. 

"  Hitherto,"  said  he,  "  we  have 
spoken  of  thy  faults :  now  for  mine. 
My  choler  is  ungovernable,  furious. 
It  is  by  the  grace  of  God  I  am  not  a 
murderer.  I  repent  the  next  mo- 
ment ;  but  a  moment  too  late  is  all 
too  late.  Mar}^,  had  the  churls  laid 
finger  on  thee,  I  should  have  scat- 
tered their  brains  with  my  crucifix. 
O,  I  know  myself,  go  to ;  and  trem- 
ble at  myself.  There  lurketh  a  wild 
beast  beneath  this  black  gown  of 
mine." 

"  Alas,  father,"  said  Mary,  "  were 
you  other  than  you  are,  I  had  been 
lost.  To  take  me  from  that  place 
needed  a  man  wary  as  a  fox,  yet  bold 
as  a  lion." 

Clement  reflected.  "  Thus  much 
is  certain.  God  chooseth  well  his 
fleshly  instruments  ;  and  with  im- 
perfect hearts  doeth  liis  perfect  work. 
Glorj-  be  to  God  !  " 

When  they  were  near  the  convent, 
Mary  suddenly  stopped,  and  seized 
the  friar's  arm,  and  began  to  cry.  He 
looked  at  her  kindly,  and  told  her 
siie  had  nothing  to  fear.  It  would 
be  the  happiest  day  she  had  ever 
spent.  He  then  made  her  sit  down 
and  compose  hcrselt  till  he  should 
return,  lie  entered  the  convent,  and 
desired  to  see  the  abbess. 

"  My  sister,  give  the  glory  to  God  : 
Mary  is  at  the  gate.  ' 


The  astonishment  and  delight  of 
the  abbess  were  imbounded.  She 
yielded  at  once  to  Clements  earnest 
request  that  the  road  of  penitence 
might  be  smoothed  at  first  to  this  un- 
stable wanderer,  and,  after  some  op- 
position, she  entered  heartily  into 
his  views  as  to  her  actual  reception. 
To  give  time  for  their  little  prepara- 
tions Clement  went  slowly  back,  and, 
seating  liimsclf  by  Mary,  soothed  her, 
and  heard  her  confession. 

"  The  abbess  has  granted  me  that 
you  shall  proposeyour  own  penance." 

"  It  shall  be  none  the  lighter,"  said 
she. 

"  I  trow  not,"  said  he ;  "  but  that  is 
future  :  to-day  is  given  to  joy  alone." 

He  then  led  her  round  the  building 
to  the  abbess's  postern.  As  they  went 
they  heard  musical  instruments  and 
singing. 

"  'T  is  a  feast-day,"  said  Mary ; 
"  and  I  come  to  mar  it." 

" Hardly,"  said  Clement,  smiling; 
"  seeing  that  you  are  the  queen  of  the 
fete." 

"  I,  father  1  what  mean  you  ?  " 

"  What,  Mary,  have  you  never  heard 
that  there  is  more  joy  in  heaven  over 
one  sinner  that  repenteth,  than  over 
ninety-nine  just  persons  which  need 
no  repentance?  Now  this  convent 
is  not  heaven  ;  nor  the  nuns  angels ; 
yet  are  there  among  them  some  angel- 
ic spirits  ;  and  these  sing  and  exult 
at  thy  return.  And  here  methinks 
comes  one  of  them ;  for  I  see  her  hi\ud 
trembles  at  the  keyhole." 

The  postern  was  flung  open,  and  in 
a  moment  sister  Ursula  clung  sobbing 
and  kissing  round  her  friend's  neck. 
The  abbess  followed  more  sedately, 
but  little  less  moved. 

Clement  bade  them  farewell.  They 
entreated  him  to  stay  :  but  he  told 
them  with  much  regret  he  could  not. 
He  had  already  tried  his  good  broth- 
er Jerome's  patience,  and  must  hasten 
to  the  river :  and  perhaps  sail  for 
England  to-morrow. 

So  Mary  returned  to  the  fold,  and 
Clement  strode  briskly  on  towards 
the  Khine,  and  England. 


362 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


This  was  the  man  for  whom  Mar- 
garet's boy  lay  in  wait  with  her  letter. 

tHijt  lijtartlj. 

And  that  letter  was  one  of  those 
simple,  toucliiiig  ajipeals  only  her  sex 
can  write  to  those  wiio  have  used 
them  cruelly,  and  they  love  them. 
She  began  by  telling  him  of  the  birth 
of  the  little  boy,  and  the  comfort  he 
iiad  been  to  her  in  all  the  distress  of 
mind  his  long  and  strange  silence  had 
caused  her.  She  described  the  little 
Gerard  minutely,  not  forgetting  the 
mole  on  his  little  finger.  "  Know  you 
any  one  that  hath  the  like  on  his  )  If 
you  only  saw  him  you  could  not 
choose  but  be  proud  of  him :  all  the 
mothers  in  the  street  do  envy  me ; 
but  I  the  wives  ;  for  thou  comest  not 
to  us.  My  own  Gerard,  some  say 
thou  art  dead.  But,  if  thou  wcrt  dead, 
how  could  I  be  alive  1  Others  say 
that  thou  whom  I  love  so  truly  art 
false.  But  this  will  I  believe  from  no 
lips  but  tliine.  My  father  loved  thee 
well ;  and  as  he  lay  a  dying  he  thought 
he  saw  thee  on  a  great  river,  with  thy 
face  tui'ncd  toward  thy  Margaret,  but 
sore  disfigured.  Is  't  so,  perchance  ? 
Have  cruel  men  scarred  thy  sweet 
face  1  or  hast  thou  lost  one  of  thy 
precious  limbs  1  Why,  then  thou  hast 
the  more  need  of  me,  and  I  shall  love 
thee  not  worse,  —  alas  !  thinkest  thou 
a  woman's  love  is  light  as  a  man's  ? 
—  but  better,  than  I  did  when  I  shed 
those  few  drops  from  my  arm,  not 
worth  the  tears  thou  didst  shed  for 
them  ;  mindest  thou  ?  't  is  not  so  very 
long  agone,  dear  Gerard." 

The  letter  continued  in  this  strain, 
and  concluded  without  a  word  of  re- 
proach or  doubt  as  to  his  faith  and 
affection.  Not  that  she  was  free  from 
most  distressing  doubts :  but  they 
were  not  certainties;  and  to  show 
them  might  turn  the  scale,  and  fright- 
en him  away  from  her  with  fear  of^ 
being  scolded.  And  of  this  letter  she 
made  soft  Luke  the  bearer. 

So  she  was  not  an  angel  after  all. 

Luke  mingled  with  the  passengers 


of  two  boats,  and  could  hear  nothing 
of  Gerard  Eliassoeu.  Nor  did  thia 
surprise  him.  He  was  more  surprised 
when,  at  the  third  attempt,  a  black 
friar  said  to  him,  somewhat  severely, 
"  And  what  would  you  with  him  you 
call  Gerard  Eliassoeu  ?  " 

"  Why,  father,  if  he  is  alive  I  have 
got  a  letter  for  him." 

"  Humph  !  "  said  Jerome.  "  I  am 
sorry  for  it.  However,  the  flesh  is 
weak.  Well,  my  son,  ho  you  seek 
will  be  here  by  the  next  boat,  or  the 
next  boat  after.  And  if  he  chooses  to 
answer  to  that  name,  —  after  all,  I 
am  not  the  keeper  of  his  conscience." 

"  Good  fatiier,  one  plain  word,  for 
Heaven's  sake.  This  Gerard  Elias- 
soeu of  Tergou,  —  is  he  alive  ?  " 

"  Humph  !  Why,  certes,  he  that 
went  by  that  name  is  alive." 

"  Well,  then,  that  is  settled,"  said 
Luke,  dryly.  But  the  next  moment 
he  found  it  necessary  to  run  out  of 
sight  and  blubber. 

"  0,  why  did  the  Lord  make  any 
women  ?  "  said  he  to  himself.  "  I 
was  content  with  the  world  till  I  fell 
in  love.  Here  his  little  finger  is  more 
to  her  than  my  whole  body,  and  he  is 
not  dead.  And  here  1  have  got  to 
give  him  this."  He  looked  at  the 
letter  and  dashed  it  on  the  ground. 
But  he  picked  it  up  again  with  a 
.spiteful  snatch,  and  went  to  the  land- 
lord, with  tears  in  his  eyes,  and 
begged  for  work.  The  landlord  de- 
clined, said  he  had  his  own  people. 

"  O,  I  seek  not  your  money,"  said 
Luke.  "  I  only  want  some  work  to 
keep  me  from  breaking  my  heart 
about  another  man's  hiss." 

"  Good  lad  !  good  lad,"  exploded 
the  landlord ;  and  found  him  lots  of 
ban-els  to  mend  —  on  these  terms. 
And  he  coopered  ■with  fury  in  the  in- 
terval of  the  boats  coming  down  the 
Rhine. 


CHAPTER  LXXXni. 

Writing  an  earnest  letter  seldom 
leaves  the  mind  in  statu  quo.     Marga- 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


363 


ret,  in  hers,  vented  her  energy  and 
her  fuitli  in  her  dying  father's  vision, 
or  ilhision  ;  and  when  this  was  done, 
and  Luke  gone,  she  wondered  at  her 
credulity,  and  her  conscienec  pricked 
her  about  Luke  ;  and  Catherine  came 
and  scokled  her,  and  she  paid  the  price 
of  false  hopes,  and  elevation  ofsj)irits, 
by  falling  into  deeper  despondency. 
She  was  found  in  this  state  by  a 
t^tanch  friend  she  had  lately  made, — 
Joan  Ketel.  This  good  woman  came 
iu  radiant  with  an  idea. 

"  Margaret,  I  know  the  cure  for 
thine  ill :  the  hermit  of  Gouda,  a 
wondrous  holy  man.  Why,  he  can 
tell  what  is  coming,  when  he  is  in  the 
mood." 

"  Ay,  I  have  heard  of  him,"  said 
Margaret,  hopelessly.  Joan  w^ith 
some  difficulty  persuaded  her  to  walk 
out  as  far  as  Gouda,  and  consult  the 
hermit.  They  took  some  butter  and 
eggs,  iu  a  basket,  and  went  to  his 
cave. 

What  had  made  the  pair  such  fast 
friends  ?  Jorian  some  six  weeks  ago 
fell  ill  of  a  bowel  disease ;  it  began 
with  raging  pain ;  and  wdien  this  went 
off,  leaving  him  weak,  an  awkward 
syra])tom  succeeded ;  nothing,  either 
liquid  or  solid,  would  stay  in  his 
stomach  a  minute.  The  doctor  said  : 
"  He  must  die  if  this  goes  on  many 
hours ;  therefore,  boil  thou  now  a 
chicken  with  a  golden  angel  in  the 
water,  and  let  him  sup  that ! "  Alas  ! 
Gilt  chicken-broth  shared  the  fate  of 
the  humbler  viands,  its  predecessors. 
Then  the  cure  steeped  the  thumb  of 
St.  Sergius  in  beef  broth.  Same  re- 
sult. Then  Joan  ran  weeping  to 
Margaret  to  borrow  some  linen  to 
make  his  shroud.  "  Let  me  see  him," 
said  Margaret.  She  came  in  and  felt 
his  pulse,  "  Ah  !  "  said  she,  "  I 
doubt  they  have  not  gone  to  the  root. 
Open  the  window  !  Art  stifling  him  ; 
now  change  all  his  linen." 

"Alack,  woman,  what  for?  Why 
foul  more  linen  for  a  dying  man  ? " 
objected  the  mediajval  wife. 

"  Do  as  thou  art  bid,"  said  Marga- 
ret, dryly,  and  left  the  room. 


Joan  somehow  found  herself  doing 
as  she  was  bid.  Margaret  returned 
with  her  apron  full  of  a  fla^vering 
herb.  She  made  a  decoction,  and 
took  it  to  the  bedside  ;  and,  before  giv- 
ing it  to  the  patient,  took  a  spoonftii 
herself,  and  smacked  her  lips  hypocl•i^ 
ically.  "  That  is  fair,"  said  he,  with 
a  feeble  attempt  at  humor.  "  Why, 
't  is  sweet,  and  now  't  is  bitter."  She 
engaged  him  in  conversation  as  soon 
as  he  had  taken  it.  This  bitter-sweet 
stayed  by  him.  Seeing  which  she 
built  on  it  as  cards  are  built :  mixed 
a  very  little  schiedam  in  the  third 
spoonful,  and  a  little  beaten  yolk  of 
egg  in  the  seventh.  And  so  with  the 
patience  of  her  sex  she  coaxed  his 
body  out  of  Death's  grasp ;  and 
finally.  Nature,  being  patted  on  the 
back,  instead  of  kicked  under  the 
bed,  set  Jorian  Ketel  on  his  legs  again. 
But  the  doctress  made  them  both 
swear  never  to  tell  a  soul  her  guilty 
deed.  "  They  would  put  me  in 
prison,  away  from  my  child." 

The  simple  that  saved  Jorian  was 
called  sweet  feverfew.  She  gathered 
it  in  his  own  garden.  Her  eagle  eye 
had  seen  it  growing  out  of  the  win- 
dow. 

Margaret  and  Joan,  then,  reached 
the  hermit's  cave,  and  placed  their 
present  on  the  little  platform.  Mar- 
garet then  applied  her  mouth  to  the 
aperture  made  for  that  purpose  and 
said  :  "  Holy  hermit,  we  bring  thee 
butter  and  eggs  of  the  best ;  and  I,  a 
poor  deserted  girl,  wife,  yet  no  wife, 
and  mother  of  the  sweetest  babe, 
come  to  pray  thee  tell  me  wliether  ho 
is  quick  or  dead,  true  to  his  vows  or 
false." 

A  faint  voice  issued  from  the  cave; 
"  Trouble  me  not  with  the  things  of 
earth,  but  send  me  a  holy  friar.  I  am 
dying." 

'  "  Alas  !  "  cried  Margaret.  "  Is  it 
e'en  so,  poor  soul  1  Then  let  us  in  to 
help  thee." 

"  Saints  forbid !  Thine  is  a  wo- 
man's voice.     Send  me  a  holy  friar ! " 

They  went  back  as  they  came. 
Joan  could  not  help  saying,  "  Are 


864 


THE   CLOISTEU   AND   THK   nEARTII, 


women  imps  o'  darkness  then,  that 
they  must  not  come  aiiiyh  a  dying 
bed  ? " 

But  Margaret  was  too  deeply  de- 
jected to  say  anytiiint;.  Joan  applied 
rough  consolation.  But  she  was  not 
listened  to  till  she  said  :  "  And  .Ionian 
will  s])eak  out  erelong ;  he  is  just  on 
the  hoil.  He  is  very  grateful  to  thee, 
believe  it." 

•'  Seeing  is  believing,"  replied  Mar- 
garet, with  (juiet  hittemess. 

"  Not  but  what  he  thinks  you  might 
have  saved  him  with  something  more 
out  o'  the  common  than  you.  '  A 
man  of  my  inches  to  be  cured  wi' 
feverfew,'  says  he-  '  Why,  if  there  is 
a  sorry  herb,'  says  he.  '  Why,  1  was 
thinking  o'  pulling  all  mine  up,' 
says  he.  I  up  and  told  him  remedies 
were  none  the  better  for  being  far- 
fetched ;  you  and  feverfew  cured  him, 
when  the  grand  medicines  came  up 
faster  than  they  went  down.  So  says 
I,  '  You  may  go  down  on  your  four 
bones  to  feverfew.'  But  mdced  he 
is  grateful  at  bottom  ;  you  are  all  his 
thought  and  all  his  chat.  But  he 
sees  Gerard's  folk  coming  around  ye, 
and  good  friends,  and  he  said  only 
last  night —  " 

"  Well  1  " 

"  He  made  me  vow  not  to  tell  ye." 

"  Prithee,  tell  me." 

"Well,  he  said:  'An'  if  I  tell 
what  little  I  know,  it  won't  bring 
him  back,  and  it  will  set  them  all  by 
the  ears.  I  wish  I  had  more  head- 
piece,' said  he.  '  I  am  sore  per- 
plexed. But  least  said  is  soonest 
mended.'  Yon  is  his  favorite  word ; 
he  comes  back  to  it  from  a  mile  off." 

Margaret  shook  her  head.  "  Ay, 
we  are  wading  in  deep  waters,  my 
poor  babe  and  me." 

It  was  Saturday  night,  and  no 
Luke. 

"  Poor  Luke !  "  said  Margaret. 
"  It  was  very  good  of  him  to  go  on 
such  an  errand." 

"He  is  one  out  of  a  hundred,"  re- 
plied Catherine,  warmly. 

"  Mother,  do  you  think  he  would 
be  kind  to  little  Gerard  1 " 


"  I  am  sure  he  would.  So  do  yoa 
be  kinder  to  lilin  when  becomes  back  ! 
Will  ye  now  ?  " 

"  Ay  !  " 

Cfje  (Cloisttr. 

BuoTHEK  Clkmknt,  directed  by 
the  nuns,  avoided  a  bend  in  the 
river,  and,  striding  lustily  forward, 
reached  a  station  some  miles  nearer 
the  coast  than  that  where  Luke  lay 
in  wait  for  Gerard  Eliassoen.  And 
the  next  morning  he  started  early, 
and  was  in  Ht)ttcrdam  at  noon.  lie 
made  at  once  ftjr  the  port,  not  to  keep 
Jenjme  waiting. 

He  observed  several  monks  of  his 
order  on  the  quay  ;  he  went  to  them  ; 
but  Jerome  was  not  ainongst  them. 
He  asked  one  of  them  whether  Je- 
rome had  arrived.  "  Surely,  brother," 
^^•as  the  re])ly. 

"  Prithee,  where  is  he  ?  " 

"  Where  1  Why,  there  !  "  said  the 
monk,  pointing  to  a  ship  in  full  sail. 
And  Clement  now  noticed  that  all  the 
monks  were  looking  seaward. 

"  What,  gone  without  me  !  O  Je- 
rome !  Jerome  !  "  cried  he,  in  a  voice 
of  anguish.  Several  of  the  friars 
turned  round,  and  stared. 

"  You  must  be  brother  Clement," 
said  one  of  them  at  length ;  and  on 
this  they  kissed  him  aiul  greeted  him 
with  brotherly  warmth,  and  gave  hira 
a  letter  Jerome  bad  charged  them 
with  for  him.  It  was  a  hasty  scrawl. 
The  writer  told  him  coldly  a  ship 
was  about  to  sail  for  England,  and  he 
was  loath  to  lose  time.  He  (Clement) 
might  follow  if  he  pleased,  but  he 
would  do  much  better  to  stay  behind, 
and  preach  to  his  own  country-folk. 
"  Give  the  glory  to  God,  brother  ; 
you  have  a  wonderful  jxiwer  over 
Dutch  hearts  ;  but  you  are  no  match 
for  those  haughty  islanders  :  you  are 
too  tender. 

"  Know  thou  that  on  the  way  I 
met  one,  who  asked  me  for  thee  under 
the  name  thou  didst  bear  in  the 
world.  Be  on  thy  guard  !  Let  not 
the  world  catch  thee  again  by  any 
silken  net.     And  remember,  Solitude, 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


365 


Fasting,  and  Prayer  are  the  sword, 
spear,  and  shield  of  the  soul.  Fare- 
well ! " 

Clement  was  deeply  shocked  and 
mortified  at  this  contemptuous  deser- 
tion, and  this  cold-blooded  missive. 

He  promised  the  good  monks  to 
sleep  at  the  convent,  and  to  preach 
wherever  the  prior  should  appoint 
(for  Jerome  had  raised  him  to  the 
skies  as  a  preacher),  and  then  with- 
drew abruptly,  for  he  was  cut  to  the 
quick,  and  wanted  to  be  alone.  He 
asked  himself,  was  there  some  in- 
curable fault  in  him,  repulsive  to  so 
true  a  son  of  Dominic  ?  Or  was 
Jerome  himself  devoid  of  that  Chris- 
tian Love  which  St.  Paul  had  placed 
above  Faith  itself  ?  Shipwrecked 
with  him,  and  saved  on  the  same 
fragment  of  the  wreck ;  his  pupil,  his 
penitent,  his  son  in  the  Church,  and 
now  for  four  hundred  miles  his  fel- 
low-traveller in  Ciirist ;  and  to  be 
shaken  off  like  dirt,  the  first  oppor- 
tunity, with  harsh  and  cold  disdain. 
"  Why,  worldly  hearts  are  no  colder 
nor  less  trusty  than  this,"  said  he. 
"  The  only  one  that  ever  really  loved 
me  lies  in  a  grave  hard  by.  Fly  me, 
fly  to  England,  man  born  without  a 
heart ;  I  will  go  and  pray  over  a 
grave  at  Sevenbergen." 

Three  hours  later  he  passed  Pe- 
ter's cottage.  A  troop  of  noisy  chil- 
dren were  playing  about  the  door, 
and  the  house  had  been  repaired,  and 
a  new  out-house  added.  He  turned 
his  head  hastily  away,  not  to  disturb 
the  picture  his  memory  treasured; 
and  went  to  the  churchyard. 

He  sought  among  the  tombstones 
for  Margaret's.  He  could  not  find 
it.  He  could  not  believe  they  had 
grudged  her  a  tombstone,  so  searched 
the  churchyard  all  over  again. 

"  (J  ])overty  !  stern  poverty  !  Poor 
soul,  thou  wcrt  like  me ;  no  one  was 
left  that  loved  thee,  when  Gerard  was 
gone." 

He  went  into  the  church,  and, 
after  kissing  the  steps,  prayed  long 
antl  earnestly  for  the  soul  of  her 
whose  resting-place  he  could  not  find. 


Coming  out  of  the  church  he  saw 
a  very  old  man  looking  over  the  little 
churchyard  gate.  He  went  towards 
him,  and  asked  him  did  he  live  in  the 
place. 

"  Fourscore  and  twelve  years,  man 
and  boy.  And  I  come  here  every 
day  of  late,  holy  father,  to  take  a  peep. 
This  is  where  I  look  to  bide  erelong," 

"  My  son,  can  you  tell  me  where 
Margaret  lies  1 " 

"  Margaret  ?  There  's  a  many 
Margarets  here." 

"  Margaret  Brandt.  She  was 
daughter  to  a  learned  physician." 

"As  if  I  didn't  know  that,"  said 
the  old  man,  pettishly.  "  But  she 
does  n't  lie  here.  Bless  you,  they 
left  this  a  longful  wliile  ago.  Gone 
in  a  moment,  and  the  house  empty. 
What,  is  she  dead  ?  Margaret  a 
Peter  dead  ?  Now  only  think  on  't. 
Like  enow ;  like  enow.  They  great 
towns  do  terribly  disagree  wi'  country 
folk." 

"  What  great  towns,  my  son  ?  " 

"Well,  'twas  Rotterdam  they  went 
to  from  here,  so  I  heard  tell ;  or  was 
it  Amsterdam  ?  Nay,  I  trow  't  was 
Rotterdam.     And  gone  there  to  die." 

Clement  sighed. 

"  'T  was  not  in  her  face  now,  that 
I  saw.  And  I  can  mostly  tell.  Alack, 
there  was  a  blooming  young  flower  to 
be  cut  off  so  soon,  and  an  old  weed 
like  me  left  standing  still.  Well, 
well,  she  was  a  May  rose  yon  ;  dear 
heart,  what  a  winsome  smile  she  had, 
and  —  " 

"  God  bless  thee,  my  son,"  said 
Clement ;  "  farewell !  "  and  he  hur- 
ried away. 

He  reached  the  convent  at  sunset, 
and  watched  and  prayed  in  the  chapel 
for  Jerome  and  Margaret,  till  it  was 
long  past  midnight,  and  his  soul  had 
recovered  its  cold  calm. 


CHAPTER  LXXXIV. 

The  next  day,  Sunday,  after  mass, 
was  a  bustling  day  at    Catherine's 


366 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THK    IIKAKTH. 


house  in  the  Hoog  Straet.  The  shop 
was  now  quite  ready,  and  Cornells 
and  Sybrandt  were  to  open  it  next 
day ;  their  names  were  above  the 
door ;  also  their  sign,  a  white  lainb 
sucking  a  gilt  sheep.  Eli  had  come, 
and  brouglit  them  some  more  goods 
from  his  store  to  give  them  a  good 
start.  The  hearts  of  the  parents 
glowed  at  what  they  were  doing,  and 
the  pair  themselves  walked  in  the 
garden  together,  and  agreed  they 
were  sick  of  their  old  life,  and  it  was 
more  pleasant  to  make  money  than 
waste  it ;  they  vowed  to  stick  to  busi- 
ness like  wax.  Their  mother's  quick 
and  ever-watchful  car  overheard  this 
resolution  through  an  open  window, 
and  she  told  Eli.  The  family  supper 
was  to  include  Margai-et  and  lier  boy, 
and  be  a  kind  of  inaugural  feast,  at 
which  good  trade  advice  was  to  flow 
from  the  elders,  and  good  wine  to  be 
drunk  to  the  success  of  the  converts 
to  Commerce  from  Agriculture  in 
its  narrowest  form,  —  wild  oats.  So 
Margaret  had  come  over  to  help  her 
mother-in-law,  and  also  to  shake  off 
lier  own  deep  languor  ;  and  both 
their  faces  were  as  red  as  the  fire. 
Presently  in  came  Joan  with  a  salad 
from  Jorian's  garden. 

"  He  cut  it  for  you,  Margaret  ; 
you  arc  all  his  chat;  I  shall  be  jeal- 
ous. I  told  him  you  were  to  feast  to- 
day. But,  0  lass,  what  a  sermon  in 
the  new  kirk  !  Preaching  ?  I  never 
heard  it  till  this  day." 

"Would  I  had  been  there  then," 
said  Margaret ;  "  for  I  am  dried  up 
for  want  of  dew  from  Heaven." 

"  ^Vhy,  he  preacheth  again  this  af- 
ternoon. But  mayhap  you  are  want- 
ed here." 

"  Not  she,"  said  Catherine.  "  Come, 
away  ye  go,  if  y'  are  minded." 

"Indeed,"  said  Margaret,  "  me- 
thinks  I  should  not  be  such  a  damper 
at  table  if  1  could  come  to  't  warm 
from  a  good  sermon." 

"  Then  you  must  be  brisk,"  ob- 
served Joan.  "  See,  the  folk  are 
wending  that  way,  and  as  I  live  there 
goes  the  holy  friar.     O,  bless  us,  and 


save  us,  Margaret ;  the  liennit !  We 
forgot."  And  this  active  woman 
bmindod  out  of  the  house,  and  ran 
across  the  road,  and  stoj)|X'd  the  friar. 
She  returned  as  (juickly.  "  There, 
I  was  bent  on  seeing  him  nigh 
hand." 

"  What  said  he  to  thee  ?  " 

"  Says  he,  '  My  daughter,  I  will  go 
to  him  ere  sunset,  God  willing.'  The 
sweetest  voice.  But,  O  my  mis- 
tresses, what  thin  cheeks  for  a  young 
man,  and  great  eyes,  not  far  from 
your  color,  Margaret." 

"  I  have  a  great  mind  to  go  hear 
him,"  said  Margaret.  "  But  my  cap 
is  not  very  clean,  and  they  will  all 
be  there  in  their  snow-white  mutch- 
es." 

"  There,  take  my  handkerchief  out 
of  the  basket,"  said  Catherine  ;  "you 
cannot  have  the  child,  I  want  him  lor 
my  poor  Kate.  It  is  one  of  her  ill 
days." 

Margaret  replied  by  taking  tho 
boy  up  stairs.  She  found  Kate  i^ 
bed. 

"  How  art  thou,  sweetheart  ?  Nay, 
I  need  not  ask.  Thou  art  in  sore 
pain  ;  thou  smilest  so.  See,  I  have 
brought  thee  one  thou  lovest." 

"  Two,  by  my  way  of  counting," 
said  Kate,  with  an  angelic  smile. 
She  had  a  spasm  at  that  moment 
would  have  made  some  of  us  roar  like 
bulls. 

"  What,  in  your  lap  f  "  said  Mar- 
garet, answering  a  gesture  of  the  suf- 
fering girl.  "Nay,  he  is  too  heavy, 
and  thou  in  such  pain." 

"  I  love  him  too  dear  to  feel  his 
weight,"  was  the  reply. 

Margaret  took  this  opportunity,  and 
made  her  toilet.  "  I  am  for  the  kirk," 
said  she,  "  to  hear  a  beautiful  preach- 
er." Kate  sighed.  "  And  a  minute 
ago,  Kate,  I  was  all  agog  to  go ;  that 
is  the  way  with  me  this  month  past; 
up  and  down,  up  and  down,  like  the 
waves  of  the  Zuyder  Zee.  I  'd  as 
lieve  stay  aside  thee  :  say  the  word  !  " 
"Nay,"  said  Kate,  "prithee  go; 
and  bring  me  back  every  word.  Well- 
a-day  that  I  cannot  go  myself."    And 


THE  CLOISTER  AND   THE  HEARTH. 


367 


the  tears  stooJ  in  the  patient's  eyes. 
This  docidfd  Margaret,  and  she  kissed 
Kate,  looised  under  her  hishes  at  the 
boy,  and  heaved  a  little  sigii. 

"  I  trow  I  must  not,"  said  she. 
"  I  never  could  kiss  him  a  little  ;  and 
aiy  father  was  dead  against  waking  a 
child  by  day  or  night.  When  't  is  thy 
pleasure  to  wake,  speak  thy  aunt  Kate 
the  two  new  words  thou  hast  gotten." 
And  she  went  out,  looking  lovingly 
over  her  shoulder,  and  shut  the  door 
inaudibly. 

"  Joan,  you  will  lend  me  a  hand, 
and  peel  these  ?  "  said  Catherine. 

"  That  I  will,  dame."  And  the 
cooking  proceeded  ■with  silent  vigor. 

"  Now,  Joan,  them  which  help  me 
cook  and  ser\'e  the  meat,  they  help  me 
eat  it ;  that 's  a  rule." 

"  There 's  worse  laws  in  Holland 
than  that.  Your  will  is  my  pleasure, 
mistress  ;  for  ray  Jorian  hath  got  his 
supper  i'  the  air.  He  is  digging  to- 
day, by  good  luck."  (Margaret  came 
down.) 

"  Eh,  woman,  yon  is  an  ugly  trade. 
There,  she  has  just  washed  her  face 
and  gi'en  her  hair  a  turn,  and  now 
who  is  like  her  ?  Rotterdam,  that  for 
you  !  "  and  Catherine  snapped  her 
fingers  at  the  capital.  "  Give  us  a 
buss,  hussy !  Now  mind,  Eli  won't 
wait  supper  for  the  Duke.  Where- 
fore, loiter  not  after  your  kirk  is 
over." 

Joan  and  she  both  followed  her  to 
the  door,  and  stood  at  it  watching  her 
a  good  way  down  the  street.  For 
among  homely  housewives  going  out 
o'  doors  is  half  an  incident.  Cathe- 
rine commented  on  the  launch ; 
"  There,  Joan,  it  is  almost  to  me  as  if 
I  had  just  started  my  own  daughter 
for  kirk,  and  stood  a  looking  after ;  the 
which  I  've  done  it  manys  and  manys 
the  times.  Joan,  lass,  she  won't  hear 
a  word  against  our  Gerard  ;  and,  be  he 
alive,  he  has  used  her  cruel ;  that  is 
why  my  bowels  yearn  for  the  poor 
wench.  I  'm  older  and  wiser  than 
she  ;  and  so  I  '11  wed  her  to  yon  sim- 
ple Luke,  and  there  an  end.  What 's 
one  grandchild  7  " 
16* 


CHAPTER  LXXXV. 

The  sermon  had  begun  when  Mar. 
garet  entered  the  great  church  of  St. 
Laurens.  It  was  a  huge  edifice,  far 
from  completed.  Churches  were  not 
built  in  a  year.  The  side  aisles  were 
roofed,  but  not  the  mid  aisle  nor  the 
chancel ;  the  pillars  and  arches  were 
pretty  perfect,  and  some  of  them 
whitewashed.  But  only  one  ^vindow 
in  the  whole  church  was  glazed  ;  the 
rest  were  at  present  great  jagged 
openings  in  the  outer  walls. 

But  to-day  all  these  uncouth  imper- 
fections made  the  church  beautiful. 
It  was  a  glorious  summer  afternoon, 
and  the  sunshine  came  broken  into 
marvellous  forms  through  those  irreg- 
ular openings,  and  played  bewitching 
pranks  upon  so  many  broken  sur- 
faces. 

It  streamed  through  the  gaping 
walls,  and  clove  the  dark  cool  side 
aisles  with  rivers  of  glory,  and  dazzled 
and  glowed  on  the  white  pillars  be- 
yond. 

And  nearly  the  whole  central  aisle 
was  checkered  with  light  and  shade 
in  broken  outlines  ;  the  shades  seem- 
ing cooler  and  more  soothing  than 
ever  shade  was,  and  the  lights  like 
patches  of  amber  diamond,  animat- 
ed with  heavenly  fire.  And  above, 
from  west  to  east,  the  blue  sky  vault- 
ed the  lofty  aisle,  and  seemed  quite 
close. 

The  sunny  caps  of  the  women  made 
a  sea  of  white,  contrasting  exquisitely 
with  that  vivid  vault  of  blue. 

For  the  mid  aisle,  huge  as  it  was, 
was  crammed,  yet  quite  still.  The 
words  and  the  mellow,  gentle,  ear- 
nest voice  of  the  preacher  held  them 
mute. 

Margaret  stood  spell-bound  at  the 
beauty,  the  devotion,  "  the  great 
calm."  She  got  behind  a  pillar  in  the 
north  aisle ;  and  there,  though  she 
could  hardly  catch  a  word,  a  sweet 
devotional  liinguor  crept  over  her  at 
the  loveliness  of  the  place  and  the 
preacher's  musical  voice :  and  balmy 
oil  seemed  to  trickle  over  the  waves 


368 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


in  her  heart  and  smooth  them.  So 
she  leaned  against  the  pillar,  with 
eyes  half  closed,  and  all  seemed  soft 
and  dreamy.  She  felt  it  good  to  be 
there. 

Presently  she  saw  a  lady  leave  an 
excellent  place  opposite,  to  get  ont  of 
the  sun,  which  was  indeed  pouring  on 
her  head  from  the  window.  Margaret 
went  round  softly,  but  swiftly  ;  and  was 
fortunate  enough  to  get  the  place. 
She  was  now  beside  a  pillar  of  the 
south  aisle,  and  not  above  fifty  feet 
from  the  preacher.  She  was  at  his 
side,  a  little  behind  him,  but  could 
hear  every  word. 

Her  attention,  however,  was  soon 
distracted  by  the  shadow  of  a  man's 
head  and  shoulders  bobbing  up  and 
down  so  drolly,  she  had  some  ado  to 
keep  from  smiling. 

Yet  it  was  notliing  essentially  droll. 

It  was  the  sexton  digging. 

She  found  that  out  in  a  moment  by 
looking  behind  her,  through  the  win- 
dow, to  whence  the  shadow  came. 

Now  as  she  was  looking  at  Jorian 
Ketel  digging,  suddenly  a  tone  of  the 
preacher's  voice  fell  upon  her  ear  and 
her  mind  so  distinctly,  it  seemed  lit- 
erally to  strike  her,  and  make  her  vi- 
brate inside  and  out. 

Her  hand  went  to  her  bosom,  so 
strange  and  sudden  was  the  thrill. 
Then  she  turned  round,  and  looked 
at  the  preacher.  His  back  was  turned, 
and  nothing  visible  but  his  tonsure. 
She  sighed.  That  tonsure,  being  all 
she  saw,  contradicted  the  tone  effect- 
ually. 

Yet  she  now  leaned  a  little  forward 
with  downcast  eyes,  hoping  for  that 
accent  again.  It  did  not  come.  But 
the  whole  voice  grew  strangely  upon 
her.  It  rose  and  fell  as  the  preacher 
warmed;  and  it  seemed  to  waken 
faint  echoes  of  a  thousand  happy 
memories.  She  would  not  look  to 
dispel  the  melancholy  pleasure  this 
voice  gave  her. 

Presently,  in  the  middle  of  an  elo- 
quent period,  the  preacher  stopped. 

She  almost  sighed ;  a  soothing  mu- 
sic had  ended.    Could  the  sermon  be 


ended  already  ?  No :  she  looked 
round  ;  the  people  did  not  move. 

A  good  many  faces  seemed  now  to 
turn  her  way.  She  looked  behind  her 
sharply.     There  was  nothing  there. 

Startled  countenances  near  her  now 
eyed  the  preacher.  She  followed  their 
looks ;  and  there,  in  the  pulpit,  was  a 
face  as  of  a  staring  corpse.  The  fri- 
ar's eyes,  naturally  large,  and  made 
larger  by  the  thinness  of  his  cheeks, 
were  dilated  to  supernatural  size,  and 
glaring  her  way,  out  of  a  bloodless 
face. 

She  cringed  and  turned  fearfully 
round  ;  for  she  thought  there  must  ba 
some  terrible  thing  near  her.  No: 
there  was  nothing ;  she  was  the  out- 
side figure  of  the  listening  crowd. 

At  this  moment  the  church  fell  in- 
to commotion.  Figures  got  up  all 
over  the  building,  and  craned  for- 
ward ;  agitated  faces  by  hundreds 
gazed  from  the  friar  to  Margaret,  and 
from  Margaret  to  the  friar.  The 
tui-ning  to  and  fro  of  so  many  caps 
made  a  loud  rustle.  Then  came 
shrieks  of  nciTOUs  women,  and  buzz- 
ing of  men  :  and  Margaret,  seeing  so 
many  eyes  levelled  at  her,  shrank  ter- 
rified behind  the  pillar,  with  one 
scared,  hurried  glance  at  the  preacher. 

Momentary  as  that  glance  was,  it 
caught  in  that  stricken  face  an  ex- 
pression that  made  her  shiver. 

She  turned  faint,  and  sat  down  on 
a  heap  of  chips  the  workmen  had  left, 
and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 
The  sermon  went  on  again.  She 
heard  the  sound  of  it,  but  not  the 
sense.  She  tried  to  think,  but  her 
mind  was  in  a  whirl.  Thought  would 
fix  itself  in  no  shape  but  this :  that 
on  that  prodigy-stricken  face  she  had 
seen  a  look  stamped.  And  the  rec- 
ollection of  that  look  now  made  her 
quiver  from  head  to  foot. 

For  that  look  was  "  RECOGNI- 
TION." 

The  sermon,  after  wavering  some 
time,  ended  in  a  strain  of  exalted, 
nay,  feverish  eloquence,  that  went  far 
to  make  the  crowd  forget  the  preach- 
er's strange  pause  and  ghastly  glare. 


THE  CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


869 


Margaret  mingled  hastily  with  the 
crowd,  and  went  out  of  the  church 
witli  them. 

They  went  tlieir  way  home.  But 
she  turned  at  tlic  door  and  went  into 
the  churchyard,  to  Peter's  grave. 
Poor  as  she  was,  she  had  given  iiim  a 
shib  and  a  headstone.  She  sat  down 
on  the  slal),  and  kissed  it.  Then 
thrcw  her  apron  over  her  tliat  no  one 
might  distinguish  her  by  lier  hair. 

"Father,"  slie  said,  "  tliou  hast  of- 
ten heard  nic  say  I  am  wading  in  deep 
w;iters;  but  now  I  begin  to  think 
God  only  knows  the  bottc^n  of  them. 
I  '11  follow  that  friar  round  the  world, 
but  1  '11  sec  him  at  arm's  length. 
And  he  shall  tell  me  why  lie  looked 
tov.-ards  me  like  a  dead  man  wakened  : 
and  not  a  soul  behind  me.  0  father, 
you  often  praised  me  here  :  speak  a 
word  for  me  f/irrc.  For  I  am  wading 
in  deep  Avaters." 

Ilcr  father's  tomb  commanded  a 
side  view  of  the  church  door. 

,Vnd  on  that  tomb  she  sat,  with  her 
face  coAcred,  waylaying  the  holy 
preacher. 


CHAPTER  LXXXVI. 

The  cool  church,  checkered  with 
sunl)cains  and  crowned  with  heavenly 
purple,  soothed  and  charmed  Father 
Clement,  as  it  did  Margaret ;  and 
more,  it  carried  his  mind  direct  to  the 
Creator  of  all  good  and  pure  delights. 
Then  his  eye  fell  on  the  great  aisle 
crammed  with  his  country-folk ;  a 
thousand  snowy  caps,  filigrecd  with 
gold.  Many  a  hundred  leagues  he 
had  travelled ;  but  seen  nothing  like 
them,  except  snow.  In  the  morning 
he  had  thundered:  but  this  sweet 
afternoon  seemed  out  of  tune  with 
threats.  His  bowels  yearned  over  that 
nudtitude  ;  and  he  must  tell  them  of 
God's  love  :  ]>oor  souls,  they  heard 
almost  as  little  of  it  from  the  pul])it 
then-a-days  as  the  heathen  nscd.  He 
told  them  the  glad  tidings  of  salva- 
tion. The  people  hung  upon  his  gen- 
tle, earnest  tpngue, 


He  was  not  one  of  those  preachers 
who  keep  gyrating  in  the  pulpit  like 
the  weathercock  on  the  steeple.  He 
moved  the  hearts  of  others  more  than 
his  OAVTi  body.  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
he  did  not  entirely  neglect  those  who 
were  in  bad  places.  And  presently, 
warm  with  his  theme,  that  none  of  all 
that  multitude  might  miss  the  joyful 
tidings  of  Christ's  love,  he  turned  him 
towards  the  south  isle. 

And  there,  in  a  stream  of  sunshine 
from  the  window,  was  the  radiant  face 
of  Margaret  Brandt.  He  gazed  at  it 
without  emotion.  It  just  benumbed 
him,  soul  and  body. 

But  soon  the  words  died  in  his 
throat,  and  he  trembled  as  he  glared 
at  it. 

There,  with  her  auburn  hair  bathed 
in  sunbeams,  and  glittering  like  the 
gloriola  of  a  saint,  and  her  face  glow- 
ing doubly,  in  its  own  beauty,  and 
the  sunsliine  it  was  set  in,  — stood  his 
dead  love. 

She  was  leaning  Very  lightly  against 
a  white  column.  She  was  listening 
with  tender,  downcast  lashes. 

He  had  seen  her  listen  so  to  him  a 
hundred  times. 

There  was  no  change  in  her.  This 
was  the  blooming  Margaret  he  had 
lett :  only  a  shade  riper  and  more 
lovely. 

He  stared  at  her  with  monstrous 
eyes  and  bloodless  cheeks. 

The  people  died  out  of  his  sight.  He 
heard,  as  in  a  dream,  a  rustling  and 
rising  all  over  the  church  ;  but  could 
not  take  his  prodigy-stricken  eyes  off 
that  face,  all  life,  and  bloom,  and 
beauty,  and  that  wondrous  auburn 
hair  glistening  gloriously  in  the  sun. 

He  gazed,  thinking  she  must  van- 
ish. 

She  remained. 

All  in  a  moment  she  was  looking 
at  him,  full. 

Her  own  violet  eyes  !  ! 

At  this  he  was  beside  himself,  and 
his  lips  parted  to  shriek  out  her  name, 
when  she  turned  her  head  swiftly,  and 
soon  after  vanished,  but  not  without 
one  more  glance,  which,  though  rapid 


370 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


as  lightning,  encountered  his,  and  left 
her  couching  and  quivering  with  her 
mind  in  a  whirl,  and  him  panting  and 
griping  the  pulpit  convulsively.  For 
this  glance  of  hers,  though  not  rec- 
ognition, was  the  startled,  inquiring, 
nameless,  indescribable  look  that  ])re- 
cedes  recognition.  lie  made  a  mighty 
effort,  and  muttered  something  no- 
body could  understand  :  then  feebly 
resumed  his  discourse ;  and  stam- 
mered and  babbled  on  awhile,  till  by 
degrees  forcing  himself,  now  she  was 
oiit  of  sight,  to  look  on  it  as  a  vision 
from  the  other  world,  he  rose  into  a 
state  of  unnatural  excitement,  and 
concluded  in  a  style  of  eloquence  that 
electrified  the  simple  ;  for  it  bordered 
on  rhapsody. 

The  sermon  ended,  he  sat  down 
on  the  pulpit  stool,  terribly  shaken. 
But  presently  an  idea  very  character- 
istic of  the  time  took  possession  of 
him.  He  had  sought  her  grave  at 
Sevenbergen  in  vain.  She  had  now 
been  permitted  to  appear  to  him,  and 
show  him  that  she  was  buried  here  ; 
probably  hard  by  that  very  pillar, 
■where  her  spirit  had  showed  itself  to 
him. 

This  idea,  once  adopted,  soon  set- 
tled on  his  mind  with  all  the  certain- 
ty of  a  fact.  And  he  felt  he  had 
only  to  speak  to  the  sexton  (whom 
to  his  great  disgust  he  had  seen  work- 
ing during  the  sermon)  to  learn  the 
spot  where  she  was  laid. 

The  church  was  now  quite  empty. 
He  came  down  from  the  pulpit  and 
stepped  through  an  aperture  in  the 
south  wall  on  to  the  grass,  and  went 
up  to  the  sexton.  He  knew  him  in 
a  moment.  But  Jorian  never  sus- 
pected the  poor  lad,  whose  life  he  had 
saved,  in  this  holy  friar.  The  loss 
of  his  shapely  beai-d  had  wonderfully 
altered  the  outline  of  his  ftice.*  This 
had  changed  him  even  more  than  his 

*  Retro  Vanucci  and  Andrea,  did  not  rec- 
ognize him  without  his  beard.  The  fact  is, 
that  the  beard  which  has  never  known  a 
razor  grows  in  a  very  picturesque  and  char- 
acteristic form,  and  Ijecomes  a  feature  in  the 
face  ;  so  that  its  removal  may  in  some  cases 
be  an  effectual  disguise. 


tonsure,  his  short  hair  sprinkled  with 
premature  gray,  and  his  cheeks 
thinned  and  paled  by  fasts  and 
vigils. 

"  My  son,"  said  friar  Clement,  soft- 
ly, "  if  you  keep  any  memory  of 
those  whom  you  lay  in  the  earth, 
prithee  tell  me  is  any  Christian  bu- 
ried inside  the  church,  near  one  of  the 
pillars  1  " 

"Nay,  father,"  said  Jorian,  "here 
in  the  churchvard  lie  buried  all  that 
buried  be.     Why  ?  " 

"  No  matter.  Prithee  tell  me  then 
where  lieth  Margaret  Brandt." 

"  Margaret  Brandt  ?  "  And  Jorian 
stared  stupidly  at  the  speaker. 

"  She  died  about  three  years  ago 
and  was  buried  here." 

"  O,  that  is  another  matter,"  said 
Jorian  ;  "  that  was  before  my  time ; 
the  vicar  could  tell  you,  likely  :  if  so 
be  she  was  a  gentlewoman,  or  at  the 
least  rich  enough  to  pay  him  his  fee." 

"  Alas,  my  son,  she  was  poor  (and 
paid  a  heavy  penalty  for  it)  ;  but  born 
of  decent  folk.  Her  father,  Peter, 
was  a  learned  physician  ;  she  came 
hither  from  Sevenbergen  —  to  die." 

When  Clement  had  uttered  these 
words,  his  head  sunk  upon  his  breast, 
and  he  seemed  to  have  no  power  nor 
wish  to  question  Jorian  more.  I 
doubt  even  if  he  knew  where  he  was. 
He  was  lost  in  the  past. 

Jorian  put  down  his  spade,  and, 
standing  upright  in  the  grave,  set  his 
arms  akimbo,  and  said,  siUkily  :  "  Are 
you  making  a  fool  of  me,  holy  sir,  or 
has  some  wag  been  making  a  fool  of 
you  ?  " 

And,  having  relieved  his  mind  thus, 
he  proceeded  to  dig  again,  with  a 
certain  vigor  that  showed  his  some- 
what irritable  temper  was  ruffled. 

Clement  gazed  at  him  with  a  puz- 
zled but  gently  reproachful  eye ;  for 
the  tone  was  rude,  and  the  words  un- 
intelligible. 

Good-natured,  though  crusty,  Jo- 
rian had  not  thrown  up  three  spade- 
fuls ere  he  became  ashamed  of  it  him- 
self. "  Why,  what  a  base  churl  am 
I  to  speak  thus  to  thee,  holy  father; 


THE  CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


371 


ftnd  thou  a  standing  there,  looking  at 
nic  like  a  lamb.  Aha !  I  have  it ; 
't  is  Peter  Brandt's  grave  you  would 
fain  see,  not  Margaret's.  He  does 
lie  here,  hard  by  the  west  door. 
There,  I  '11  show  you."  And  he 
laid  down  his  spade,  and  put  on  his 
doublet  and  jerkin  to  go  with  the 
friar. 

He  did  not  know  there  was  any- 
body sitting  on  Peter's  tomb.  Still 
less  that  she  was  watching  for  this 
holy  friar. 


CHAPTER   LXXXVII. 

While  Jorian  was  putting  on  his 
doublet  and  jerkin  to  go  to  Peter's 
tomb,  his  tongue  was  not  idle.  "  They 
used  to  call  him  a  magician  out 
Sevenbergen  way.  And  they  do  say 
he  gave  'em  a  touch  of  his  trade  at 
parting  ;  told  'cm  he  saw  Margaret's 
lad  a  coming  down  Rhine  in  brave 
clothes  and  store  o'  money,  but  his 
face  scarred  by  foreign  glaive,  and 
not  altogether  so  many  arms  and  legs 
as  a  went  away  wi'.  But,  dear  heart, 
naught  came  on  't.  Margaret  is  still 
wearying  for  her  lad  ;  and  Peter,  he 
lies  as  quiet  as  his  neighbors ;  not 
but  what  she  hath  put  a  stone  slab 
over  him,  to  keep  him  where  he  is, 
as  you  shall  see." 

He  put  both  hands  on  the  edge  of 
the  grave,  and  was  about  to  raise 
himself  out  of  it,  but  the  friar  laid  a 
trembling  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and 
said  in  a  strange  whisper  :  — 

"  How  long  since  died  Peter 
Brandt  ?  " 

"  About  two  months.     Why  ?  " 

"  And  his  daughter  buried  him,  say 
you  ?  " 

"  Nay,  I  buried  him,  but  she  paid 
the  fee  and  reared  the  stone.  Why  ?  " 

"  Then  —  but  he  had  but  one 
daughter,  —  Margaret  t  " 

"  No  more ;  leastways,  that  he 
owned  to." 

"  Then  you  think  Margaret  is  —  is 
alive  1  " 


"Think?  Why,  I  should  be  dead 
else.     Riddle  me  that." 

"  Alas,  how  can  I  ?  You  love 
her  1  " 

"  No  more  than  reason,  being  a 
married  man  and  father  of  four  more 
sturdy  knaves  like  myself.  Nay,  the 
answer  is,  she  saved  my  life  scarce  six 
weeks  agone.  Now  had  she  been 
dead  she  could  n't  ha'  kept  me  alive. 
Bless  your  heart,  I  could  n't  keep  a 
thing  on  my  stomach  ;  nor  doctors 
could  n't  make  me.  My  Joan  says  : 
'  'T  is  time  to  buy  thee  a  shroud.' 
'  I  dare  say,  so  't  is,'  says  I ;  '  but  try 
and  borrow  one  first.'  In  comes  my 
lady,  this  Margaret,  which  she  died 
three  years  ago,  by  your  way  on 't, 
opens  the  windows,  makes  'em  shift 
me  where  I  lay,  and  cures  me  in  the 
twinkling  of  a  bedpost  ;  but  wi' 
what?  there  pinches  the  shoe;  with 
the  scurviest  herb,  and  out  of  my 
own  garden,  too ;  with  sweet  fever- 
few. A  herb,  quotha,  't  is  a  weed  ; 
leastways  it  was  a  weed  till  it  cured 
me ;  but  now  whene'er  I  pass  my 
bunch  I  doff  bonnet,  and  says  I : 
'  My  service  t'  ye.'  Why,  how  now, 
father,  you  look  wondrous  pale,  and 
now  you  are  red  ;  and  now  you  are 
white!  Why,  what  is  the  matter? 
What  in  Heaven's  name  is  the  mat- 
ter ?  " 

"  The  surprise,  —  the  joy,  —  the 
wonder,  —  the  fear,"  gasped  Clement. 

"  Why,  what  is  it  to  thee  ?  Art 
thou  of  kin  to  Margaret  Brandt  ?  " 

"  Nay  ;  but  I  knew  one  that  loved 
her  well,  so  well  her  death  nigh  killed 
him  body  and  soul.  And  yet  thou 
sayest  she  lives.  And  I  believe 
thee." 

Jorian  stared,  and,  after  a  consider- 
able silence,  said  very  gravely  :  "Fa- 
ther, you  have  asked  me  many  ques- 
tions, and  I  have  answered  them 
truly;  now  for  our  Lady's  sake  an- 
swer me  but  two.  Did  you  in  very 
sooth  know  one  who  loved  this  poor 
lass  ?     Where  ?  " 

Clement  was  on  the  point  of  re - 
vealing  himself,  but  he  reniombcred 
Jerome's  letter,  and  shrank  from,  be- 


372 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


ing  called  by  the  name  he  had  borne 
in  the  world. 

"  I  knew  him  in  Italy,"  said  he. 

"If  you  knew  him  you  can  tell  me 
his  name,"  said  Jorian,  cautiously. 

"  His  name  was  Gerard  Eliassoen." 

"  O,  but  this  is  strange.  Stay, 
what  made  thee  say  Margaret  Brandt 
was  dead  ? " 

"  I  was  with  Gerard  when  a  letter 
came  from  Margaret  Van  Eyck.  The 
letter  told  him  she  he  loved  was  dead 
and  buried.  Let  me  sit  down,  for  my 
strength  fails  me.  Foul  play  !  Foul 
play  ! " 

"  Fatlier,"  said  Jorian,  "  I  thank 
Heaven  for  sending  thee  to  me.  Ay, 
sit  ye  down  ;  ye  do  look  like  a  ghost ; 
ye  "fast  overmuch  to  be  strong.  My 
mind  misgives  me ;  methinks  I  hold 
the  clew  to  this  riddle,  and,  if  I  do, 
there  be  two  knaves  in  this  town 
whose  heads  I  would  fain  batter  to 
pieces  as  I  do  tliis  mould  "  ;  and  he 
clenched  his  teeth  and  raised  bis  long 
spade  above  his  head,  and  brought  it 
furiously  down  upon  the  heap  several 
times.  "  Foul  play  1  You  never 
said  a  truer  word  i'  your  life  ;  and,  if 
you  know  where  Gerard  is  now,  lose 
no  time,  but  show  him  the  trap  they 
have  laid  for  him.  Mine  is  but  a  dull 
head,  but  whiles  the  slow  hound  puz- 
zles out  the  scent,  —  go  to.  And  I 
do  think  you  and  I  ha'  got  hold  of 
tAvo  ends  o'  one  stick,  and  a  main  foul 
one." 

Jorian  then,  after  some  of  those 
useless  preliminaries  men  of  his  class 
always  deal  in,  came  to  the  point  of 
his  story.  He  had  been  emploj'ed  by 
the  burgomaster  of  Tergou  to  repair 
the  fliooi  of  an  upper  room  in  his 
house,  and  when  it  was  almost  done, 
coming  suddenly  to  fetch  away  his 
tools,  curiosity  had  been  excited  by 
some  loud  words  below,  and  he  had 
lain  down  on  his  stomach,  and  heard 
the  burgomaster  talking  about  a  let- 
ter, which  Cornells  and  Sybrandt 
were  minded  to  convey  into  the  place 
of  one  that  a  certain  Hans  Hemling 
Was  taking  to  Gerard  :  "  And  it  seems 
their  will  was  good,  but  their  stomach 


was  small ;  so  to  give  them  courage 
the  old  man  showed  them  a  drawer 
full  of  silver,  and  if  they  did  the  trick 
they  should  each  put  a  hand  in,  and 
have  all  the  silver  they  could  hold 
in  't.  Well,  father,"  continued  Jorian, 
"  I  thought  not  much  on 't  at  the 
time,  except  for  the  bargain  itself, 
fliat  kept  me  awake  mostly  all  night. 
Think  on  't !  Next  morning  at  peep 
of  day  who  should  I  see  but  my  mas- 
ters Cornells  and  Sybrandt  come  out 
of  their  house,  each  with  a  black  eye? 
'  Oho,'  says  I,  '  what,  yon  Hans  hath 
I)Ut  his  mark  on  ye  ;  well  now  I  hope 
that  is  all  you  have  got  for  your 
pains.'  Didn't  they  make  for  the 
burgomaster's  house?  I  to  my  hid- 
ing-place." 

At  this  part  of  Jorian's  revelation 
the  monk's  nostril  dilated,  and  his 
restless  eye  showed  the  suspense  he 
was  in. 

"  Well,  father,"  continued  Jorian, 
"  the  burgomaster  brought  them  into 
that  same  room.  He  had  a  letter  in 
his  hand  ;  but  I  am  no  scholar  ;  how- 
ever, I  have  got  as  many  eyes  in  my 
head  as  the  pope  hath,  and  I  saw  the 
drawer  opened  and  those  two  knaves 
put  in  each  a  hand  and  draw  it  out 
full.  And,  saints  in  glory,  how  they 
tried  to  hold  more,  and  more,  and 
more  o'  yon  stuff!  And  Sybrandt, 
he  had  daubed  his  hand  in  something 
sticky,  I  think  't  was  glue,  and  he 
made  shift  to  carry  one  or  two  pieces 
away  a  sticking  to  the  back  of  his 
hand,  he !  he !  he !  'T  is  a  sin  to 
laugh.  So  you  see  luck  was  on  the 
wrong  side  as  usual ;  they  had  done 
the  trick ;  but  how  they  did  it,  that, 
methinks,  will  never  be  known  till 
doomsday.  Go  to,  they  left  their  im- 
mortal jewels  in  yon  drawer.  Well, 
they  got  a  handful  of  silver  for  them  ; 
the  Devil  had  the  worst  o'  yon  bar- 
gain. There,  father,  that  is  off  my 
mind  ;  often  I  longed  to  tell  it  some 
one,  but  I  durst  not  to  the  women ; 
or  Margaret  would  not  have  had  a 
friend  left  in  the  world ;  for  those 
two  black-hearted  villains  are  the  fa- 
vorites.    'T  is  always  so.     Have  not 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


373 


the  old  folk  just  taken  a  brave  new 
shop  for  them  in  this  very  town,  in 
the  Hoog  Straet  1  There  may  you 
see  their  sign,  a  gilt  sheep  and  a 
lambkin ;  a  brace  of  wolves  sucking 
their  dam  would  be  nigher  the  mark. 
And  there  the  whole  family  feast  this 
day.  O,  't  is  a  tine  world  !  What,  not 
a  word,  holy  father  ?  You  sit  there  like 
stone,  and  have  not  even  a  curse  to  be- 
stow on  them,  the  stony-hearted  mis- 
creants. What,  was  it  not  enough  the 
poor  lad  was  all  alone  in  a  strange  land ; 
must  his  own  flesh  and  blood  go  and 
lie  away  the  one  blessing  his  enemies 
had  left  him  ?  And  then  think  of  her 
pining  and  pining  all  these  years,  and 
sitting  at  the  window  looking  adown 
the  street  for  Gerard !  and  so  con- 
stant, so  tender  and  true :  my  wife 
says  she  is  sure  no  woman  ever  loved 
a  man  truer  than  she  loves  the  lad 
those  villains  have  parted  from  her ; 
and  the  day  never  passes  but  she 
Avecps  salt  tears  for  him.  And  when 
I  think  that,  but  for  those  two  greedy, 
lying  knaves,  yon  winsome  lad, 
whose  life  I  saved,  might  be  by  her 
side  this  day  the  happiest  he  in  Hol- 
land ;  and  the  sweet  lass,  that  saved 
my  life,  might  be  sitting  with  her 
cheek  upon  her  sweetheart's  shoulder, 
the  happiest  she  in  Holland  in  place 
of  the  saddest ;  O,  I  thirst  for  their 
blood,  the  nasty,  sneaking,  lying, 
cogging,  cowardly,  heartless,  bowel- 
less  —    How  now  ?  ! " 

The  monk  started  wildly  up,  livid 
with  fury  and  despair,  and  rushed 
headlong  from  the  place  with  both 
hands  clenched  and  raised  on  high. 
So  terrible  was  this  inarticulate  burst 
of  fury,  that  Jorian's  puny  ire  died 
out  at  sight  of  it,  and  he  stood  looking 
dismayed  after  the  human  tempest  he 
had  launched. 

While  thus  absorbed  he  felt  his  arm 
grasped  by  a  small,  tremulous  hand. 

It  was  Margaret  Brandt. 

He  started  :  her  coming  there  just 
then  seemed  so  strange. 

She  had  waited  long  on  Peter's 
lomlistoue,  but  the  friar  did  not  come. 
So  she  went  into  the  church  to  see  if 


he  was  there  still.  She  could  not  find 
him. 

Presently,  going  up  the  south  aisle, 
the  gigantic  shadow  of  a  friar  came 
rapidly  along  the  Hoor  and  part  of  a 
pillar,  and  seemed  to  pass  through 
her.  She  was  near  screaming :  but 
in  a  moment  remembered  Jorian's 
shadow  had  come  in  so  from  the 
churchyard  ;  and  tried  to  clamber  out 
the  nearest  way.  She  did  so,  but 
with  some  dilhculty ;  and  by  that 
time  Clement  was  just  disappearing 
down  the  street ;  yet  so  expressive  at 
times  is  the  body  as  well  as  the  face, 
she  could  see  he  was  greatly  agitated. 
Jorian  and  she  looked  at  one  another, 
and  at  the  wild  figure  of  the  distant 
friar. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  she  to  Jorian,  trem- 
bling. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  you  startled  me. 
How  come  you  here  of  all  people  ?  " 

"  Is  this  a  time  for  idle  chat  ? 
What  said  he  to  you  ?  He  has  been 
speaking  to  you  ;  deny  it  not." 

"  Girl,  as  I  stand  here,  he  asked 
me  whereabout  you  were  buried  in 
this  churchvard." 

"  Ah  ?  "  ' 

"  I  told  him,  nowhere,  thank  Heav- 
en :  you  were  alive  and  saving  other 
folk  from  the  churchyard." 

"  Well  1  " 

"  Well,  the  long  and  the  short  is, 
he  knew  thy  Gerard  in  Italy  :  and  a 
letter  came,  saying  you  were  dead ; 
and  it  broke  thy  poor  lad's  heart. 
Let  me  see  ;  who  was  the  letter  writ- 
ten by  ?  0,  by  the  demoiselle  Van 
Eyck.  That  was  his  way  of  it.  But 
I  up  and  told  him  nay ;  't  was  neither 
demoLselle  nor  dame  that  penned  yon 
lie,  but  Ghysbrecht  Van  Swieten,  and 
those  foul  knaves,  Cornells  and  Sy- 
brandt ;  these  changed  the  true  letter 
for  one  of  their  own ;  I  told  him  as 
how  I  saw  the  whole  villany  done, 
through  a  chink  ;  and  now,  if  I  have 
not  been  and  told  you  !  " 

"  O,  cruel !  cruel !  But  he  lives. 
The  fear  of  fears  is  gone.  Thank 
God ! " 

"  Ay,  lass ;   and  as  for  thine  eno- 


374 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


mies,  I  Viflvd  given  them  a  dig.  For 
yon  friar  is  friendly  to  Gerard,  and  he 
is  gone  to  Kli's  house,  nietliinks.  For 
I  told  him  wiiere  to  find  Gerard's  ene- 
mies and  thine,  and  wow  but  he  will 
give  them  their  lesson.  If  ever  a  man 
was  mad  with  rage,  it 's  yon.  He 
turned  hhick  and  white,  and  parted 
like  a  stone  from  a  sling.  Girl,  there 
was  thunder  in  his  eye  and  silence  on 
his  lips.     Made  me  cold  a  did." 

"  O  Jorian,  what  have  you  done  "^  " 
cried  Margaret.  "  Quick !  quick  ! 
help  me  thitfier,  for  the  power  is  gone 
all  out  of  my  body.  You  know  him 
not  as  I  do.  (),  if  you  had  seen  the 
blow  he  gave  Ghysbrecht,  and  heard 
the  frightful  crash  !  Come,  save  him 
from  worse  mischief.  The  water  is 
deep  enow ;  but  not  bloody  yet ; 
come ! " 

Her  accents  were  so  full  of  agony 
that  Jorian  sprang  out  of  the  grave 
and  came  with  her,  huddling  on  his 
jerkin  as  he  went. 

But,  as  they  Imrried  along,  he 
asked  her  what  on  earth  she  meant  ? 
"  I  talk  of  this  friar,  and  you  answer 
me  of  Gerard." 

"  Man,  see  you  not,  iJns  is  Gerard !  " 

"  This,  Gerard  ?  what  mean  ye  ?  " 

"  I  mean,  yon  friar  is  my  l)oy's 
father.  I  have  waited  for  him  long, 
Jorian.  Well,  he  is  come  to  me  at  last. 
And  thank  God  for  it.  O  my  poor 
child  !     Quicker,  Jorian,  quicker  !  " 

"  Why,  thou  art  mad  as  he.  Stay ! 
By  St.  Bavon,  yon  ilxis  Gerard's  face  : 
'twas  naught  like  it;  yet  somehow 
't  was  it.  Come  on  !  come  on  !  let  me 
see  the  end  of  this." 

"  The  end  1  How  many  of  us  will 
live  to  see  that  ?  " 

They  hurried  along  in  breathless 
silence,  till  they  reached  Iloog  Straet. 

Then  Jorian  tried  to  reassure  her. 
"You  are  making  your  own  trouble," 
said  he  ;  "  who  says  he  has  gone 
thither'?  more  likely  to  the  convent 
to  weep  and  pray,  poor  soul.  0 
cursed,  cursed  villains  i  " 

"  Did  not  you  tell  him  where  those 
villains  bide "? " 

"  Ay,  that  I  did." 


"  Then  quicker,  O  Jorian,  quicker. 
I  sec  the  house.  Thank  CJod  and  all 
the  saints,  I  sliall  be  in  time  to  calm 
him.  I  know  what  I  '11  say  to  him  ; 
Heaven  forgive  me.  Poor  Catherine  ; 
't  is  of  her  I  think ;  she  has  been  a 
mother  to  me." 

Tlie  shop  was  a  corner  house,  with 
two  doors  ;  one  in  the  main  street  for 
customers,  and  a  house-door  round 
the  corner. 

Margaret  and  Jorian  were  now 
within  twenty  yards  of  the  shop,  when 
they  heard  a  roar  inside,  like  as  of 
some  wild  animal,  and  the  friar  burst 
out,  white  and  raging,  and  went  tear- 
ing down  the  street. 

Margaret  screamed,  and  sank  faint- 
ing on  Jorian's  arm. 

Jorian  shouted  after  him,  "  Stay, 
madman,  know  thy  friends." 

But  he  was  deaf,  and  went  head- 
long, shaking  his  clenched  fists  high, 
high  in  the  air. 

"  Help  me  in,  good  Jorian," 
moaned  Margaret,  turning  suddenly 
calm.  "  Let  me  know  the  worst, 
and  die." 

He  supported  her  trembling  limbs 
into  the  house. 

It  seemed  unnaturally  still ;  not  a 
sound. 

Jorian's  own  heart  beat  fast. 

A  door  was  before  him,  unlatched. 
He  pushed  it  softly  with  his  left  hand, 
and  Margaret  and  he  stood  on  the 
threshold. 

What  they  saw  there  you  shall  soon 
know. 


CHAPTER  LXXXVIII. 

It  was  svtpper-tirae.  Eli's  family 
were  collected  round  the  board  :  Mar- 
garet only  was  missing.  To  Cath- 
erine's surprise,  Eli  said  he  would 
wait  a  bit  for  her. 

"  Why,  I  told  her  you  would  not 
wait  for  the  duke." 

"  She  is  not  the  duke  :  she  is  a 
poor,  good  lass,  that  hath  waited  not 
minutes,  but  years,  for  a  graceless 
son  of  mine.     You  can  put  the  meat 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


375 


on  the  board  all  the  same ;  then  we 
can  fall  to,  -without  further  loss  o' 
time,  when  she  does  come." 

The  smoking  dishes  smelt  so  sa- 
vory that  Eli  gave  way.  "  She  will 
eome  if  we  begin,"  said  he ;  "  they 
always  do.  Come,  sit  ye  down.  Mis- 
tress Joan  ;  y'  are  not  here  for  a  slave, 
I  trow,  but  a  guest.  There,  I  hear  a 
quick  stej),  —  off  covers,  and  fall  to." 

The  covers  were  withdrawn,  and 
the  knives  brandished  Then  burst 
into  the  room,  not  the  expected  Mar- 
garet, but  a  Dominican  friar,  livid 
with  rage. 

He  was  at  the  table  in  a  moment, 
in  front  of  Cornclis  and  Sybrandt, 
threw  his  tall  body  over  the  narrow 
table,  and,  with  two  hands  hovering 
above  their  shrinking  heads,  like  ea- 
gles over  a  quarry,  he  cursed  them  by 
name,  soul  and  body,  in  this  world 
and  the  next.  It  was  an  age  eloquent 
in  curses  ;  and  this  curse  was  so  full, 
so  minute,  so  blighting,  blasting, 
withering,  and  tremendous,  that  I  am 
afraid  to  put  all  the  words  on  paper. 
"  Cursed  be  the  lips,"  he  shrieked, 
"  which  spoke  the  lie  that  Margaret 
was  dead  ;  may  they  rot  before  the 
grave,  and  kiss  white-hot  iron  in  hell 
thereafter ;  doubly  cursed  be  the 
hands  that  changed  those  letters,  and 
be  they  struck  off  by  the  hangman's 
knife,  and  handle  hell-fire  forever ; 
thrice  accursed  be  the  cruel  hearts 
that  did  conceive  that  danmcd  lie,  to 
part  true  love  forever  ;  may  tliey 
sicken  and  wither  on  earth  joyless, 
loveless,  hopeless  ;  and  wither  to  dust 
before  their  time  ;  and  burn  in  eter- 
nal lire."  He  cursed  the  meat  at 
their  mouths,  and  every  atom  of  their 
bodies,  from  their  hair  to  the  soles  of 
their  feet.  Then  turning  from  the 
cowering,  shuddering  pair,  who  had 
almost  hid  themselves  beneath  the 
table,  he  tore  a  letter  out  of  his 
bosom,  and  Hung  it  down  before  his 
father. 

"  Read  that,  thou  hard  old  man 
that  didst  imprison  thy  son,  read, 
and  .see  what  monsters  thou  hast 
brought  into  the  world.     The  mem- 


ory of  my  wrongs  and  hers  dwell 
with  you  all  forever !  I  will  meet 
you  again  at  the  judgment  day ; 
on  earth  ye  will  never  see  me  more." 
And  in  a  moment,  as  he  had  come, 
so  he  was  gone,  leaving  them  stiff, 
and  cold,  and  white  as  statues,  round 
the  smoking  board. 

And  this  was  the  sight  that  greeted 
Margaret's  eyes  and  Jorian's,  —  pale 
figures  of  men  and  women  petrified 
around  the  untasted  food,  as  Eastern 
poets  feigned. 

Margaret  glanced  her  eye  round, 
and  gasped  out :  "  0  joy !  all  here  ; 
no  blood  hath  been  shed.  O  you 
cruel,  cruel  men  !  I  thank  God  he 
hath  not  slain  you." 

At  sight  of  her  Catherine  gave  an 
eloquent  scream,  then  turned  her 
head  away.  But  Eli,  who  had  just 
cast  his  eye  over  the  false  letter,  and 
begun  to  understand  it  all,  seeing  the 
other  victim  come  in  at  that  very  mo- 
ment with  her  Avrongs  reflected  in 
her  sweet,  pale  face,  started  to  his 
feet  in  a  transport  of  rage,  and  shout- 
ed :  "  Stand  clear,  and  let  me  get  at 
the  traitors.  I  '11  hang  for  them." 
And  in  a  moment  he  whipped  out 
his  short  sword,  and  fell  upon  them. 
"  Fly  !  "    screamed   Margaret,  — 

"  fly  !  " 

They  slipped  howling  under  the 
table,  and  crawled  out  the  other 
side. 

But,  ere  they  could  get  to  the  door, 
the  furious  old  man  ran  round  and 
intercepted  them.  Catherine  only 
screamed  and  wrung  her  hands ; 
your  notal)les  are  generally  useless  at 
such  a  time ;  and  blood  would  cer- 
tainly have  flowed,  but  Margaret  and 
Jorian  seized  the  fiery  old  man's 
arms,  and  held  them  with  all  their 
might,  whilst  the  pair  got  clear  of 
the  house  ;  then  they  let  him  go ;  and 
he  went  vainly  raging  after  them  out 
into  tlic  street. 

They  wei'e  a  furlong  off',  running 
like  hares. 

He  hacked  down  the  board  on 
wliich  their  names  were  written,  and 


376 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


bronf^ht  it  in  doors,  and  flung  it  into 
the  ciiimncy-placc. 

Catherine  was  sitting  rocking  her- 
self witli  lier  apron  over  her  head. 
Joan  liad  run  to  her  husband.  Mar- 
garet had  her  arms  round  Catherine's 
neck,  and,  pale  and  panting,  was  yet 
making  efforts  to  comfort  her. 

But  it  was  not  to  be  done.  "  O 
my  poor  children  !  "  she  cried.  "  O 
miserable  mother  !  'T  is  a  mercy 
Kate  was  ill  up  stairs.  There,  I  have 
lived  to  thank  God  for  that ! "  she 
cried,  with  a  fresh  burst  of  sobs.  "  It 
would  have  killed  her.  He  had  bet- 
ter have  stayed  in  Italy,  as  come 
home  to  curse  his  own  flesh  and  blood, 
and  set  us  all  by  the  cars." 

"  O,  hold  your  chat,  woman," 
cried  Eli,  angrily  ;  "  you  are  still  on 
the  side  of  the  ill-doer.  You  are 
cheap  served  ;  your  weakness  made 
the  rogues  what  they  are  ;  I  was  for 
correcting  them  in  their  youth  :  for 
sore  ills,  sharp  remedies  ;  but  you 
still  sided  with  their  faults,  and  un- 
dermined me,  and  baffled  wise  sever- 
ity. And  you,  Margaret,  leave  com- 
forting her  that  ought  rather  to  com- 
fort you ;  for  what  is  her  hurt  to 
yours  ?  But  she  never  had  a  grain 
of  justice  under  her  skin,  and  never 
will.  So  come  thou  to  me,  that  am 
thy  father  from  this  hour." 

This  was  a  command  ;  so  she 
kissed  Catherine  and  went  tottering 
to  him,  and  he  put  her  on  a  chair  be- 
side him,  and  she  laid  her  feeble  head 
on  his  honest  breast ;  but  not  a  tear  ; 
it  was  too  deep  for  that. 

"  Poor  lamb,"  said  he.  After 
a  while  :  "  Come,  good  folks,"  said 
true  Eli,  in  a  broken  voice,  to  Jorian 
and  Joan,  "  we  arc  in  a  little  trouble, 
as  you  see :  but  that  is  no  i-eason  you 
should  starve.  For  our  Lady's  sake, 
fall  to  ;  and  add  not  to  my  grief  the 
reputation  of  a  churl.  What  the 
dickens  !  "  added  he,  with  a  sudden 
ghastly  attempt  at  stout-heartedness, 
"  the  more  knaves  I  have  the  luck 
to  get  shut  of,  the  more  my  need 
of  true  men  and  women,  to  help 
me  clear  the  dish,  and  cheer  mine 


eye  with  honest  faces  about  me  where 
else  were  gaps.     Fall  to,  I  do  entreat 

ye" 

Catherine,  sobbing,  backed  his  re- 
quest. Poor,  simple,  antique,  hos- 
pitable souls  !  Jorian,  whose  appe- 
tite, especially  since  his  illness,  was 
very  keen,  was  for  acting  on  this 
hospitable  invitation  ;  but  Joan  whis- 
pered a  word  in  his  car,  and  he  in- 
stantly drew  back.  "  Nay,  I  '11  touch 
no  meat  that  holy  Church  hath 
cursed." 

"  In  sooth,  I  forgot,"  said  Eli,  apol- 
ogetically. "  My  son,  who  was  reared 
at  my  table,  hath  cursed  my  victuals. 
That  seems  strange.  Well,  what  God 
wills,  man  must  bow  to." 

The  supper  was  flung  out  into  the 
yard. 

Jorian  took  his  wife  home,  and 
heavy  sadness  reigned  in  Eli's  house 
that  night. 

Meantime,  where  was  Clement? 

Lying  at  full  length  upon  the  floor 
of  the  convent  church,  with  his  lips 
on  tlie  lowest  step  of  the  altar,  in 
an  indescribable  state  of  terror,  mis- 
ery, penitence,  and  self-abasement  : 
through  all  which  struggled  gleams 
of  joy  that  Margaret  was  alive. 

Night  fell  and  found  him  lying 
there  weeping  and  praying  ;  and 
morning  would  have  found  him  there 
too ;  but  he  suddenly  remembered 
that,  absorbed  in  his  own  wrongs  and 
Margaret's,  he  had  committed  another 
sin  besides  intemperate  rage.  He  had 
neglected  a  dying  man. 

He  rose  instantly,  groaning  at  his 
accumulated  wickedness,  and  set  out 
to  repair  the  omission.  The  weather 
had  changed ;  it  was  raining  hard, 
and,  when  he  got  clear  of  the  town, 
he  heard  the  wolves  baying ;  they 
were  on  the  foot.  But  Clement  was 
himself  again,  or  nearly  ;  he  thought 
little  of  danger  or  discomfort,  having 
a  shameful  omission  of  religious  duty 
to  repair :  he  w^nt  stoutlj  forward 
through  rain  and  darkness. 

And,  as  he  went,  he  often  beat  his 
breast,  and  cried :  "  Mea  Culpa ! 
Mea  Culpa !  " 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


377 


CHAPTER    LXXXIX. 

What  the  sensitive  mind,  and  ten- 
der conscience,  and  loving  licart,  and 
religious  soul,  went  through  even  in 
a  few  hours,  under  a  situation  so  sud- 
den and  tremendous,  is,  perhaps,  be- 
yond the  power  of  words  to  paint. 

Fancy  yourself  the  man  ;  and  then 
put  yourself  hi  his  place  ! 

Were  I  to  write  a  volume  on  it,  we 
should  have  to  come  to  that  at  last. 

I  shall  relate  his  next  two  overt 
acts.  They  indicate  his  state  of  mind 
after  the  hrst  fierce  tempest  of  the 
soul  had  subsided. 

After  spending  the  night  with  the 
dying  hermit  in  giving  and  receiving 
holy  consolations,  he  set  out,  not  for 
Rotterdam,  but  for  Tergou.  He 
went  there  to  confront  his  fatal  ene- 
my the  burgomaster,  and,  by  means 
of  that  parchment,  whose  history, 
by  the  by,  was  itself  a  romance,  to 
make  him  disgorge,  and  give  Marga- 
ret her  own. 

Heated  and  dusty,  he  stopped  at 
the  fountain,  and  there  began  to  eat 
his  black  bread  and  drink  of  the  wa- 
ter. But  in  the  middle  of  his  frugal 
meal  a  female  servant  came,  running, 
and  begged  him  to  come  and  shrive 
her  dying  master.  He  returned  the 
bread  to  his  wallet,  and  followed  her 
without  a  word. 

She  took  him  —  to  the  stadthouse. 

He  drew  back  with  a  little  shudder 
when  he  saw  her  go  in. 

But  he  almost  instantly  recovered 
himself,  and  followed  her  into  the 
house,  and  up  the  stairs.  And  there, 
in  bed,  propped  up  by  pillows,  lay 
his  deadly  enemy,  looking  already 
like  a  corpse. 

Clement  eyed  him  a  moment  from 
the  door,  and  fhouglit  of  all,  —  the 
tower,  the  wood,  the  letter.  Then 
he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  Pax  vobis- 
cnm  !  "  He  trembled  a  little  while  he 
said  it. 

T'he  sick  man  welcomed  him  as  ea- 
gerly as  his  weak  state  permitted. 
"  Thank  Heaven,  thou  art  come  in 
time  to  absolve  me  from  ray  sins,  fa- 


ther, and  pray  for  my  soul,  thou  and 
thy  brethren." 

"My  son,"  said  Clement,  "before 
absolution  cometh  confession.  In 
which  act  there  must  be  no  reserva- 
tion, as  thou  vainest  thy  soul's  weal. 
Bethink  thee,  therefore,  wherein  thou 
hast  most  offended  God  and  the 
Church,  while  I  offer  up  a  prayer  for 
wisdom  to  direct  thee." 

Clement  then  kneeled  and  prayed ; 
and,  when  he  rose  from  his  knees,  he 
said  to  Ghysbrecht,  with  apparent 
calmness,  "  My  son,  confess  thy 
sins." 

"  Ah,  father,"  said  tiie  sick  man, 
"  they  are  many  and  great." 

"  Great  then  be  thy  penitence,  my 
son  ;  so  shalt  thou  find  God's  mercy 
great." 

Ghysbrecht  put  his  hands  together, 
and  began  to  confess  with  every  ap- 
pearance of  contrition. 

He  owned  he  had  eaten  meat  in 
mid-Lent.  He  had  often  absented 
himself  from  mass  on  the  Lord's  day, 
and  saints'  days  ;  and  had  trifled  with 
other  religious  observances,  which  he 
enumerated  with  scrupulous  fidelity. 

When  he  had  done,  the  friar  said, 
quietly  :  "  'T  is  well,  my  son.  These 
be  faults.  Now  to  thy  crimes.  Thou 
hadst  done  better  to  begin  with  them." 

"  Why,  father,  what  crimes  lie  to 
my  account,  if  these  be  none  ?  " 

"  Am  I  confessing  to  thee,  or  thou 
to  me  1  "  said  Clement,  somewhat  se- 
verely. 

"  Forgive  me,  father  !  Why,  sure- 
ly, I  to  you.  But  I  know  not  what 
you  call  crimes." 

"  The  seven  deadly  sins  ;  art  thou 
clear  of  them  ?  " 

"  Heaven  forfend  I  should  be  guilty 
of  them.  I  know  them  not  by 
name." 

"Many  do  them  all  that  cannot 
name  them.  Begin  with  that  one 
which  leads  to  lying,  theft,  and  mur. 
der. 

"  I  am  quit  of  that  one,  any  way. 
How  call  you  it  ?  " 

"  Avarice,  my  son." 

"  Avarice  1    'O,  as  to  that,  I  have 


378 


THE  CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


been  a  sarinp^  man  all  my  day ;  but  I 
hare  k('j)t  a  good  taljlc,  and  not  alto- 
fcether  fbr<xottcn  the  poor.  But,  alas, 
I  am  a  great  sinner.  Mayliap  the 
next  will  cateli  me.  What  is  the 
next  ? " 

"  We  have  not  yet  done  with  this 
one.  Bethink  thee,  the  Church  is  not 
to  be  trifled  with." 

"  Alas  !  am  I  in  a  condition  to 
trifle  with  her  now  1  Avarice  1  Ava- 
rice ?  " 

He  looked  puzzled  and  innocent. 

"  Ilast  thou  ever  robbed  the  father- 
less ?  "  inquired  the  friar. 

"  Me  ?  robbed  the  fatherless  1  " 
gasped  Ghysbrecht ;  "  not  that  I 
mind." 

"  Once  more,  my  son,  I  am  forced 
to  tell  thee  thou  art  trifling  witli  the 
Church.  Miserable  man !  another 
evasion,  and  I  leave  thee,  and  fiends 
will  straightway  gather  round  thy  bed, 
and  tear  thee  down  to  the  bottomless 
pit." 

"  O,  leave  me  not !  leave  me  not !  " 
shrieked  the  terrified  old  man.  "  The 
Church  knows  all.  I  must  have 
robbed  the  fatherless.  I  will  confess. 
Who  shall  I  begin  with  ?  My  memo- 
ry for  names  is  shaken." 

The  defence  was  skilful,  but  in 
this  case  failed. 

"  Hast  thou  forgotten  Floris 
Brandt?  "  said  Clement,  stonily. 

The  sick  man  reared  himself  in 
bed  in  a  pitiable  state  of  terror. 

"  How  knew  you  that  f  "  said  he. 

"  Thi.i  Church  knows  many  things," 
said  Clement,  coldly,  "  and  by  many 
ways  that  arc  dark  to  thee.  Misera- 
ble impenitent,  you  called  her  to  your 
side,  hoping  to  deceive  her.  You 
said  :  '  I  will  not  confess  to  the  cure, 
but  to  some  friar  who  knows  not  my 
misdeeds.  So  will  I  cheat  the  Church 
on  my  death-bed,  and  die  as  I  have 
lived.'  But  God,  kinder  to  thee  than 
thou  art  to  thyself,  sent  to  thee  one 
whom  thou  couldst  not  deceive.  He 
has  tried  thee ;  he  was  patient  with 
thee,  and  warned  thee  not  to  trifle 
with  holy  Chin-ch  ;  but  all  is  in  vain  ; 
thou  canst  not  confess,  for  thou  art 


impenitent  as  a  stone.  Die,  then,  as 
thou  hast  lived.  Methinks  I  see  the 
fiends  crowding  round  the  bed  for 
their  prey.  They  wait  but  for  me  to 
go.     And  I  go." 

He  turned  his  back  ;  but  Ghys- 
Irrecht,  in  extremity  of  terror,  caught 
him  by  the  frock.  O  holy  man,  mer- 
cy !  stay.  I  will  confess  all,  all.  I 
robbed  my  friend  Floris.  Alas, 
would  it  had  ended  there ;  for  he  lost 
little  by  me  :  but  I  kept  the  land  from 
Peter  his  son,  and  from  Margaret, 
Peter's  daughter.  Yet  I  was  always 
going  to  give  it  back  :  but  I  could  n  t, 
I  could  n't." 

"  Avarice,  my  son,  avarice.  Hap- 
py for  thee,  't  is  not  too  late." 

"  No.  1  will  leave  it  her  by  will. 
She  will  not  have  long  to  wait  for  it 
now  ;  not  above  a  month  or  two  at 
furthest." 

"  For  which  month's  possession 
thou  wouldst  damn  thy  soul  forever. 
Thou  fool  ! " 

The  sick  man  groaned,  and  prayed 
the  friar  to  be  reasonable.  The  friar 
firmly,  but  gently  and  jjcrsuasively, 
persisted,  and  with  infinite  patience 
detached  the  dying  man's  gripe  from 
another's  property.  There  were  times 
when  his  patience  was  tried,  and  he 
was  on  the  point  of  thrusting  his 
hand  into  his  bosom  and  producing 
the  deed,  which  he  had  brought  for 
that  purpose  ;  but  after  yesterday's 
outbreak  he  was  on  his  guard  against 
choler ;  and,  to  conclude,  he  con- 
cpiered  his  impatience  ;  he  conquered 
a  personal  repugnance  to  the  man,  so 
strong  as  to  make  his  own  flesh  creep 
all  the  time  he  was  struggling  with 
this  miser  for  his  soul :  and  at  last, 
without  a  word  about  the  deed,  he 
won  upon  him  to  make  full  and 
prompt   restitution. 

How  the  restitution  was  made  will 
be  briefly  related  elsewhere  :  also  cer- 
tain curious  effects  produced  upon 
Ghysbrecht  by  it ;  and  when  and  on 
what  terms  Ghysbrecht  and  Clement 
parted. 

I  promised  to  relate  two  acts  of  the 
latter,  indicative  of  his  mind. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


379 


This  IS  one.  The  other  is  told  in 
two  words. 

As  soon  as  he  was  quite  sure  Mar- 
garet had  her  own,  and  was  a  rich 
woman  — 

He  disappeared. 


CHAPTER  XC. 

It  was  the  day  after  that  terrible 
scene :  the  little  house  in  the  Hoog 
Straet  was  like  a  grave,  and  none 
more  listless  and  dejected  than  Cathe- 
rine, so  busy  and  sprightly  by  nature. 
After  dinner,  her  eyes  red  with  weep- 
ing, she  went  to  the  convent  to  try 
and  soften  Gerard,  and  lay  the  first 
stone  at  least  of  reconciliation.  It 
was  some  time  before  she  could  make 
the  porter  understand  whom  she  was 
seeking.  Eventually  she  learned  he 
had  left  late  last  night  and  was  not 
expected  back.  She  went  sighing 
with  the  news  to  Margaret.  She 
found  her  sitting  idle,  like  one  with 
whom  life  had  lost  its  savor ;  she  had 
her  boy  clasped  so  tight  in  her  arms, 
as  if  he  was  all  she  had  left,  and  she 
feared  some  one  would  take  him  too. 
Catlierine  begged  her  to  come  to  the 
Hoog  Straet. 

"  What  for  ?  "  sighed  Margaret. 
"  You  cannot  but  say  to  yourselves, 
'  she  is  the  cause  of  all.'  " 

"  Nay,  nay,"  said  Catherine,  "  we 
are  not  so  ill-hearted,  and  Eli  is  so 
fond  on  you ;  you  will,  maybe,  soften 
him." 

"  0,  if  you  think  I  can  do  any  good, 
I  '11  come,"  said  Margaret,  with  a 
weary  sigh. 

They  found  Eli  and  a  carpenter 
putting  up  another  name  in  place  of 
Cornelis's  and  Sybrandt's,  and  what 
should  that  name  be  but  Margaret 
Brandt's  ? 

With  all  her  affection  for  ^largaret, 
this  went  through  poor  Catherine  like 
.■\  knife.  "  The  bane  of  one  is  anoth- 
er's meat,"  said  she. 

"  Can  he  make  mc  spend  the  mon- 


ey unjustly  '2  "  replied  Margaret,  cold- 

"  You  are  a  good  soul,"  said  Cathe- 
rine. "  Ay,  so  best,  sith  he  is  the 
strongest." 

The  next  day  Giles  dropped  in,  and 
Catherine  told  the  story  all  in  favor 
of  the  black  sheep,  and  invited  his 
pity  for  them,  anathematized  by  their 
brother,  and  turned  on  the  wide  world 
by  their  father.  But  Giles's  prejudices 
ran  the  other  way  ;  he  heard  her  out, 
and  told  her  bluntly  the  knaves  had 
got  off  cheap,  they  deserved  to  be 
hanged  at  Margaret's  door  into  the 
bargain,  and,  dismissing  them  with 
contempt,  crowed  with  delight  at  the 
return  of  his  favorite.  "  I  '11  show  him," 
said  he,  "  what  't  is  to  have  a  brother 
at  court  with  a  heart  to  serve  a  friend, 
and  a  head  to  point  the  way." 

"  Bless  thee,  Giles,"  murmured 
Margaret,  softly. 

"  Thou  wast  ever  his  stanch 
friend,  dear  Giles,"  said  little  Kate ; 
"  but  alack,  I  know  not  what  thou 
canst  do  for  him  now." 

Giles  had  left  them,  and  all  was  sad 
and  silent  again,  when  a  well-dressed 
man  opened  the  door  softly,  and  asked 
was  Margaret  Brandt  here. 

"  D'  ye  hear,  lass  '?  You  are  want- 
ed," said  Catherine,  briskly.  In  her 
the  Gossip  was  indestructible. 

"  Well,  mother,"  said  Margaret, 
listlessly,  "  and  here  I  am." 

A  shuffling  of  feet  was  heard  at  the 
door,  and  a  colorless,  feeble  old  man 
was  assisted  into  the  room.  It  was 
Ghysbrecht  Van  Swieten.  At  sight 
of  him  Catherine  shrieked  and  threw 
her  apron  over  her  head,  and  Marga- 
ret shuddered  violently,  and  turned 
her  head  swiftly  away  not  to  see  him. 

A  feeble  voice  issued  from  the 
strange  visitor's  lips.  "  Good  people, 
a  dying  man  hath  come  to  ask  your 
forgiveness." 

"  Come  to  look  on  your  work,  you 
mean,"  said  Catherine,  taking  down 
her  apron,  and  bursting  out  sobbing. 
"  There,  there,  she  is  fainting ;  look 
to  her,  Eli,  quick." 

"Nay,"  said  Margaret,  in  a  feeble 


380 


THE  CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


voice,  "  the  sijjht  of  him  jrave  me  a 
turn,  that  is  all.  Prithee,  let  him  say 
his  say,  and  go  ;  for  he  is  the  mur- 
thcrer  of  me  and  mine." 

"  Alas,"  said  Ghysbrccht,  "lam  too 
foehlc  to  say  it  standing,  and  no  one 
biddeth  me  sit  down." 

Eli,  who  had  followed  him  into  the 
house,  interfered  here,  and  said,  half 
sullenly,  half  apologetically  :  "  Well, 
burgomaster,  't  is  not  our  wont  to 
leave  a  visitor  standing  whiles  we  sit. 
But,  man,  man,  you  have  wrought  us 
too  much  ill."  And  the  honest  fel- 
low's voice  began  to  shake  with  an- 
ger he  fought  hard  to  contain  because 
it  was  his  own  house. 

Then  Ghysbrccht  found  an  advo- 
cate in  one  who  seldom  spoke  in  vain 
in  that  family. 

It  was  little  Kate.  "  Father,  moth- 
er," said  she,  "ray  duty  to  you,  but 
this  is  not  well.  Death  squares  all 
accounts.  And  see  you  not  death  in 
his  face  ■?  I  shall  not  live  long,  good 
friends  :  and  his  time  is  shorter  than 
mine." 

Eli  made  haste  and  set  a  chair  for 
their  dying  enemy  with  his  own  hands. 
Ghysbrecht's  attendants  j)Ut  him  into 
it.  "  Go  fetch  the  boxes,"  said  he. 
They  brought  in  two  boxes,  and  then 
retired,  leaving  their  master  alone  in 
the  family  he  had  so  cruelly  injured. 

Every  eye  was  now  bent  on  him, 
except  Margaret's.  He  undid  the 
boxes,  with  unsteady  fingers,  and 
brought  out  of  one  the  title-deeds  of  a 
property  at  Tergou.  "  This  land  and 
these  houses  belonged  to  Floris 
Brandt,  and  do  belong  to  thee  of  right, 
his  granddaughter.  These  I  did  usurp 
for  a  debt  long  since  defrayed  with 
interest.  These  I  now  restore  their 
rightful  owner  with  penitent  tears. 
In  this  other  box  are  three  hundred 
and  forty  golden  angels,  being  the 
rent  and  fines  I  have  received  from 
that  land  more  than  Floris  Brandt's 
debt  to  me.  I  have  kept  compt,  still 
meaning  to  be  just  one  day ;  but  Ava- 
rice withheld  me  Pray,  good  peo- 
ple, against  temptation  !  I  was  not 
Dorn  dishonest :  yet  you  see." 


"Well,  to  be  sure,"  cried  Cathe- 
rine. "  And  you  the  burgomaster  ! 
Hast  whipt  good  store  of  thieves  in 
thy  day.  However,"  said  she,  on 
second  thoughts,  "  't  is  better  lato 
than  never.  What,  Margaret  ?  art 
deaf '  The  good  man  liath  jjrought 
thee  back  thine  own.  Art  a  rich  wo- 
man. Alack,  what  a  mountain  o' 
gold !  " 

"  Bid  him  keep  land  and  gold,  and 
give  mc  back  my  Gerard,  that  he  stole 
from  me  with  his  treason,"  said 
Margaret,  with  her  head  still  averted. 

"  Alas !  "  said  Ghysbrccht ;  "  would 
I  could.  What  I  can  I  have  done. 
Is  it  naught?  It  cost  me  a  .sore 
struggle ;  and  I  rose  from  my  last 
bed  to  do  it  myself,  lest  some  mis- 
chance should  come  between  her  and 
her  rights." 

"  Old  man,"  said  Margaret,  "  since 
thou,  whose  idol  is  self,  hast  done 
this,  God  and  the  saints  will,  as  I 
hope,  forgive  thee.  As  for  me,  I  am 
neither  saint  nor  angel,  but  only  a 
poor  woman,  whose  heart  thou  hast 
broken.  Speak  to  him,  Kate ;  for  I 
am  like  the  dead." 

Kate  meditated  a  little  while  ;  and 
then  her  soft,  silvery  voice  fell  like  a 
soothing  melody  upon  the  air.  "  My 
poor  sister  hath  a  sorrow  that  riches 
cannot  heal.  Give  her  time,  Ghys- 
brccht ;  't  is  not  in  nature  she  should 
forgive  thee  all.  Her  boy  is  father- 
less ;  and  she  is  neither  maid,  wife, 
nor  widow ;  and  the  blow  fell  but 
two  days  syne  that  laid  her  heart  a 
bleeding." 

A  single  heavy  sob  from  Margaret 
was  the  comment  to  these  words. 

"  Therefore,  give  her  time  !  And, 
ere  thou  diest,  she  will  forgive  thee 
all,  ay,  even  to  pleasure  me,  that  hap- 
ly shall  not  be  long  behind  thee,  Ghys- 
brccht. Meantime,  we,  whose  wounds 
be  sore,  but  not  so  deep  as  hers,  do 
pardon  thee,  a  penitent  and  a  dying 
man ;  and  I,  for  one,  will  pray  for 
thee  from  this  hour  :  go  in  peace  ! " 

Their  little  oracle  had  spoken  :  it 
was  enough.  Eli  even  invited  him  to 
break  a  manchet  and  drink  a  stoup  of 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


381 


vdne  to  give  him  heart  for  the  jour- 

TIL'V. 

But  Ghysbrecht  declined,  and  said 
what  he  had  done  was  a  cordial  to 
him.  "  Man  seeth  but  a  little  way 
before  him,  neighbor.  Thi.s  land  I 
clung  so  to,  it  was  a  bed  of  nettles  to 
me  all  the  time.  'T  is  gone ;  and  I 
feel  happier  and  livelier  like  for  the 
loss  on  't." 

lie  called  his  men,  and  they  lifted 
him  into  the  litter. 

When  he  was  gone  Catherine  gloat- 
ed over  the  money.  She  had  never 
seen  so  much  together,  and  was  al- 
most angry  with  Margaret  for  "  sit- 
ting out  there  like  an  image."  And 
she  dilated  on  the  advantages  of  mon- 
ey. 

And  she  teased  Margaret  till  at 
last  she  prevailed  on  her  to  come  and 
look  at  it. 

"  Better  let  her  be,  mother,"  said 
Kate.  "  How  can  she  relish  gold, 
with  a  heart  in  her  bosom  liker  lead  ?  " 
But  Catherine  persisted. 

The  result  was,  Margaret  looked 
down  at  all  her  wealth,  with  wonder- 
ing eyes.  Then  suddenly  wrung  her 
hands  and  cried  with  piercing  anguish, 
"  Too  Idte  !     Too  late  !  " 

And  shook  off  her  leaden  despon- 
dency only  to  go  into  strong  hyster- 
ics over  the  wealth  that  came  too  late 
to  be  shared  with  him  she  loved. 

A  little  of  this  gold,  a  portion  of 
this  land,  a  year  or  two  ago,  when  it 
was  as  much  her  own  as  now,  and 
Gerard  would  have  never  left  her  side 
for  Italy  or  any  other  place. 

Too  late  !     Too  late ! 


CHAPTER  XCI. 

Not  many  days  after  this  came 
the  news  that  Margaret  Van  Eyck 
vas  dead  and  buried.  By  a  will 
she  had  made  a  year  before,  she 
left  all  her  property,  after  her  funeral 
expenses  and  certain  ])resents  to 
Kicht  Heynes,  to  her  dear  daughter, 
Margaret  Brantlt,  requesting  her  to 


keep  Richt  as  long  as  unmarried. 
By  this  will  Margaret  inherited  a  fur- 
nished house,  and  pictures  and  sketch- 
es that  in  the  present  day  would  be  a 
fortune  :  among  the  pictures  was  one 
she  valued  more  than  a  gallery  of  oth- 
ers. It  represented  "  A  Betrothal." 
The  solemnity  of  the  ceremony  was 
marked  in  the  grave  face  of  the  man 
and  the  demure  complacency  of  the 
woman.  She  was  painted  almost  en- 
tirely by  Margaret  Van  Eyck,  but  the 
rest  of  the  picture  by  Jan.  The  ac- 
cessories were  exquisitely  finished,  and 
remain  a  marvel  of  skill  to  this  day. 
Margaret  Brandt  sent  word  to  Richt 
to  stay  in  the  house  till  such  time  as 
she  could  find  the  heart  to  put  foot  in  it, 
and  miss  the  face  and  voice  that  used 
to  meet  her  there ;  and  to  take  special 
care  of  the  pictiire  "  in  the  little  cub- 
boord  "  ;  meaning  the  diptych. 

The  next  thing  was,  Luke  Peter- 
son came  home,  and  heard  that  Ge- 
rard was  a  monk. 

He  was  like  to  go  mad  with  joy. 
He  came  to  Margaret  and  said  :  — 

"  Never  heed,  mistress.  If  he  can- 
not marry  you,  I  can." 

"  You  ]  "  said  Margaret.  "  Why, 
I  have  seen  him." 

"  But  he  is  a  friar." 

"  He  was  my  husband,  and  my 
boy's  father,  long  ere  he  was  a  friar. 
Aiid  I  have  seen  him.  I've  seen 
him." 

Luke  was  thoroughly  puzzled.  "  I 
'11  tell  you  what,"  said  he;  "I  have 
got  a  cousin  a  lawj'cr.  I  '11  go  and 
ask  him  whether  you  are  married  or 
single." 

"  Nay,  I  shall  ask  my  own  heart, 
not  a  lawyer.  So  that  is  your  regard 
for  me,  to  go  making  me  the  town 
talk.     O  fie  !  " 

"  That  is  done  already  without  a 
word  from  me." 

"  But  not  by  such  as  seek  my  re- 
spect. And,  if  you  do  it,  never  come 
nigh  me  again." 

"Ay,"  said  Luke,  with  a  sigh, 
"  you  are  like  a  dove  to  all  the  rest ; 
but  you  are  a  hard-hearted  tyrant  to 
me." 


382 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


"  'T  is  your  own  fault,  dear  Luke, 
for  wooing  me.  'J'hat  is  wliat  lets  nic 
from  being  as  kind  to  you  as  I  desire. 
Luke,  my  bonny  lad,  listen  to  mc. 
I  am  rieh  now ;  I  can  make  my 
friends  happy,  though  not  my.self. 
Look  round  the  street,  louk  round  the 
parish.  Tlieic  is  many  a  ([ueen  in  it, 
fairer  than  1  twice  told,  and  not 
spoiled  with  weejjing.  Louk  high, 
and  take  your  choice.  Speak  you  to 
the  lass  herself,  and  I  '11  speak  to  the 
mother  ;  they  shall  not  say  thee  nay; 
take  my  word  for  't." 

"  I  see  what  ye  mean,"  said  Luke, 
turning  very  red.  "  But  if  I  can't 
have  your  liking,  I  will  none  o'  your 
money.  I  was  your  servant  when 
you  were  poor  as  1 ;  am  poorer.  No  : 
if  you  would  liever  be  a  frair's  leman 
than  an  honest  man's  wife,  you  are  not 
tlie  woman  I  took  you  for  ;  so  j)art 
mc  withoutcn  malice  :  seek  you  your 
comfort  on  you  road,  where  never  a 
she  did  find  it  yet,  and,  for  me,  1  '11 
live  and  die  a  bachelor.  Good  even, 
mistress." 

"Farewell,  dear  Luke:  and  God 
forgive  you  for  saying  thitt  to  me." 

For  some  days  Margaret  dreaded, 
almost  as  mucli  as  she  desired,  the 
coming  interview  with  Gerard.  She 
said  to  herself :  "  I  wonder  iiot  he 
keeps  away  awhile  ;  for  so  should  I." 
However,  he  woidd  hear  he  was  a 
father ;  and  the  desire  to  sec  their  boy 
would  overcome  everything.  "  And," 
said  the  poor  girl  to  herself,  "  if  so  be 
that  meeting  docs  not  kill  me,  I  feel  I 
shall  be  better  after  it  than  I  am  now." 

But  when  day  after  day  went  by, 
and  he  was  not  heard  of,  a  freezing 
suspicion  began  to  crawl  and  creep 
towards  her  mind.  What  if  his  ab- 
sence was  intentional  ?  What  if  he 
had  gone  to  some  cold-blooded  monks 
his  fellows,  and  they  had  told  him 
never  to  see  her  more  1  The  convent 
had  ere  this  shown  itself  as  merciless 
to  true  lovers  as  the  grave  itself. 

At  this  thought  the  very  life  seemed 
to  die  out  of  her. 

And  now  for  the  first  time  deep  in- 
dignation mingled  at  times  with  her 


grief  and  a])prehension.  "  Can  he  hav^ 
ever  loved  me  '  To  run  from  :ae 
and  his  boy  without  a  word  !  Why, 
this  poor  Luke  thinks  more  of  me 
than  he  does." 

While  her  mind  was  in  this  state, 
Giles  came  roaring  :  "I  've  hit  thk 
clout;  ouu  Gkkabd  is  Vicar  of 

GOUDA." 

A  very  brief  sketch  of  the  dwarfs 
court  life  will  suffice  to  prepare  the 
reader  for  his  own  account  of  this  feat. 
Some  months  before  he  went  to  court 
his  intelligence  had  budded.  He 
himself  dated  the  change  from  a  cer- 
tain 8th  of  June,  when,  swinging  by 
one  hand  along  with  the  week's  wash- 
ing on  a  tight  rope  in  the  drying- 
ground,  something  went  crack  inside 
his  head  ;  and  lo  !  intellectual  powers 
unchained.  At  court  his  shrewd- 
ness and  bluntness  of  speech,  coupled 
with  his  gigantic  voice  and  his  small 
statme,  made  him  a  power :  without 
the  last  item  I  fear  they  would  have 
conducted  liim  to  that  unpopular 
gymnasium,  the  gallows.  The  young 
Duchess  of  Burgundy,  and  Marie  the 
heiress  apjiarcnt,  both  petted  him,  as 
great  ladies  have  petted  dwarfs  in  all 
ages  ;  and  the  court  poet  melted  but- 
ter by  the  six-foot  rule,  and  poured 
enough  of  it  down  liis  back  to  stew 
Goliah  in.  He  even  amj)lified,  versi- 
fied, and  enfeebled  certain  rough-and- 
ready  sentences  dictated  by  Giles. 

The  centipcdal  prolixity  that  result- 
ed went  to  Eli  by  letter  thus  entitled, 

"  The  high  and  puissant  Princess  Marie 
of  Bourgogne  hor  lytel  jantilman  hya 
complayut  of  ye  Coort,  and 
praise  of  a  rusticall  lyfe,  versiflcated,  and 

empapyred 
hy  me  the  lytel  jantilman's  right  lovynge 
and  obsequious  servitor,  etc." 

But  the  dwarf  reached  his  climax 
by  a  happy  mixture  of  mind  and 
muscle ;  thus  :  — 

The  day  before  a  grand  court  joust 
he  challenged  the  duke's  giant  to  a 
trial  of  strength.  This  challenge 
made  the  gravest  grin  and  aroused 
expectation. 

Giles    had    a    lofty  pole    planted 


THE  CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


383 


ready,  and  at  the  appointed  hour 
went  up  like  a  squirrel,  and  by 
strength  of  arm  made  a  right  angle 
with  his  body,  and  so  remained  :  then 
slid  down  so  quickly,  that  the  high 
and  puissant  princess  squeaked,  and 
hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  not  to  see 
the  demise  of  her  pocket-Hercules. 

The  giant  effected  only  about  ten 
feet,  then  looked  ruefully  up  and  rue- 
fully down,  and  descended,  bathed  in 
perspiration,  to  argue  the  matter. 

"  It  was  not  the  dwarf's  greater 
strength,  but  his  smaller  body." 

The  spectators  received  this  excuse 
with  loud  derision.  There  was  the 
fixct.  The  dwarf  was  great  at  mount- 
ing a  pole  ;  the  giant  only  great  at 
excuses.  In  short  Giles  had  gauged 
their  intellects ;  with  his  own  body 
no  doubt. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "  an  ye  go  to 
that,  I  '11  wrestle  ye,  my  lad,  if  so  be 
you  will  let  me  blindfold  your  eyne." 

The  giant,  smarting  under  defeat, 
and  thinking  he  could  surely  recover 
it  by  this  means,  readily  consented. 

"  Madam,"  said  Giles,  "  see  you 
von  blind  Samson  ?  At  a  signal 
from  me  he  shall  make  me  a  low 
obeisance,  and  unbonnet  to  me." 

"  How  may  that  be,  being  blind- 
ed ?  "  inquired  a  maid  of  honor. 

"  That  is  my  affair." 

"  I  wager  on  Giles  for  one,"  said 
the  princess. 

When  several  wagers  Were  laid  pro 
and  con,  Giles  hit  the  giant  in  the 
bread-basket.  He  went  double  (the 
obeisance),  and  his  bonnet  fell  off". 

The  company  yelled  with  delight 
at  this  delicate  stroke  of  wit,  and 
Giles  took  to  his  heels.  The  giant 
followed  as  soon  as  he  could  recover 
his  breath  and  tear  off  his  bandage. 
But  it  was  too  late ;  Giles  had  pre- 
pared a  little  door  in  the  wall,  through 
which  he  could  pass,  but  not  a  giant, 
and  had  colored  it  so  artfully  it 
looked  like  wall ;  this  door  he  tore 
open,  and  went  headlong  through, 
leaving  no  vestige  but  this  posy, 
written  very  large  upon  the  reverse 
of  his  trick  door. 

17 


icng  limbs?,  bic|  bobrj,  ivanttitij  ictt, 
Sp  iree  anti  m^i  ig  bet  an6  bet. 

After  this  Giles  became  a  Force. 

He  shall  now  speak  for  himself. 

Finding  Margaret  unable  to  beheve 
the  good  news,  and  sceptical  as  to  the 
affiiirs  of  holy  Church  being  admin- 
istered by  dwarfs,  he  narrated  as  fol- 
lows :  — 

"  When  the  princess  sent  for  me  to 
her  bedroom  as  of  custom,  to  keep 
her  out  of  languor,  I  came  not  mirth- 
ful nor  full  of  country  diets,  as  is  my 
wont,  but  dull  as  lead. 

"  '  Why,  what  aileth  thee  1 '  quo' 
she.  '  Art  sick  ? '  'At  heart,'  quo' 
I.  '  Alas,  he  is  in  love,'  quo'  she. 
Whereat  five  brazen  hussies,  which 
they  call  them  maids  of  honor,  did 
giggle  loud.  '  Not  so  mad  as  that,' 
said  I,  '  seeing  what  I  see  at  court  of 
women-folk.' 

"  '  There,  ladies,'  quo'  the  princess, 
'best  let  him  a  be.  'Tis  a  liberal 
mannikin,  and  still  giveth  more  than 
he  taketh  of  saucy  words. 

"  '  In  all  sadness,'  quo'  she,  '  what 
is  the  matter  1 ' 

"  I  told  her  I  was  meditating  and 
what  perplexed  mc  was,  that  other 
folk  could  now  and  then  keep  their 
word,  but  princes  never. 

" '  Heyday,'  says  she,  '  thy  shafts 
fly  high  this  morn.'  I  told  her,  '  Ay, 
for  they  hit  the  Truth.' 

"  She  said  I  was  as  keen  as  keen ; 
but  it  became  not  me  to  put  riddles 
to  her,  nor  her  to  answer  them. 
'  Stand  aloof  a  bit,  mesdames,'  said 
she,  '  and  thou  speak  withouten 
fear,'  for  she  saw  I  was  in  stid  ear- 
nest. 

"  I  began  to  quake  a  bit ;  for,  mind 
ye,  she  can  doff  freedom  and  don 
dignity  quicker  than  she  can  slip  out 
of  her  dressing-gown  into  kirtle  of 
state.  But  I  made  my  voice  so  soft 
as  honey  ;  (wherefore  smilest  ?  )  and  I 
said,  '  Madam,  one  evening,  a  matter 
of  five  years  agone,  as  ye  sat  with 
your  mother,  the  Countess  of  Charo- 
lois,  who  is  now  in  heaven,  worse 
luck,  you  wi'  your  lute,  and  she  wi' 


884 


THE   CLOISTKR    AND   THK    IIKARTH. 


liiT  tnpcsfry,  or  the  like,  then;  cnnie  i 
into  _vf  a  fair  youth,  —  with  n  letter! 
rrnni  II  ]>niiiter   liody,  one    Marjjnret 
Van  I\vck." 

••  She  snid  tihe  thou};ht  »hc  <lid. 
'  Wiis  it  not  ii  tall  youth,  excctilinjjiy 
comely  ? ' 

"  '  Ay,  ninilnni,'  Haid  I  ;  '  he  was 
my  hrother.' 

•'  ■  Your  hrotluT  ' '  "  sniil  sihe,  ami 
•lid  eye  me  like  nil  over.  (What 
lost  smile  at  ?) 

"  So  I  told  her  all  that  i»a«.M<l  k-- 
tween  her  and  (lerard,  and  how  .she 
wa.s  for  ^ivin;;  him  a  hishoprie  ;  hut 
the  ^00*1  eountesH  said,  '  (Jeiitly, 
Marie!  He  i.t  too  younp ' ;  and 
with  that  they  did  I'oth  i)romise  him 
n  livinj;.  '  Yet,'  said  I,  '  he  hath  Idtii 
a  priest  a  Ion;;  while,  and  no  livinf?. 
llenre  my  hile.' 

"  '  Alius  ! '  said  she,  '  't  is  not  l>y  my 
;;o«td-will.  For  all  this  thou  lia.st 
said  is  sooth  ;  and  more,  I  ilo  reniem- 
Imt,  my  dear  mother  said  to  me, 
"  See  thou  to  it  if  I  Ik?  not  h  n."  '  So 
thin  she  eritil  out.  '  Ay,  dear  moth- 
er, no  word  of  thine  shall  ever  full 
to  the  f^round.' 

"  1,  seeing;  her  so  ripe,  paid  quickly, 
'  Madam,  the  Viear  of  (louda  died 
htst  week."  (For  wlien  ye  seek  fa- 
vors of  the  ^reat,  iH-hooves  ye  know 
the  viTy  tiling-  ye  aim  at.) 

"  '  Then  thy  hrother  is  viear  of 
(iouda,"  i|uo'  she,  '  so  sun-  as  I  am 
heiR'ss  of  Hur^xundy  and  the  Nether- 
lands. Nay,  thank  me  not,  t'fX)d 
(iiles,'  (juo'  she  :  '  hut  my  ;:ood  moth- 
er. And  I  do  thank  thee  f«)r  ;,'ivin>x 
of  me  soniewhat  to  do  for  her  mem- 
ory.' And  <liH'S  n't  she  fall  a  wwp- 
in;;  for  her  mother  /  and  does  n't  that 
set  me  ofl'  a  snivelling  for  my  ^'ood 
jrothcr  that  I  love  so  dear,  and  to 
think  that  a  poor  little  elf  like  me 
could  yet  speak  in  the  ear  of  princes, 
anil  make  my  beautiful  brother  vicar 
ofGouda?  ch,  lass,  it  is  a  bonny 
place,  and  a  bonny  manse,  and  haw- 
thorn in  every  bush  at  sprinp-tide, 
and  dog-roses  and  eglantine  in  ev- 
er>'  summer-hedge.  I  know  what  the 
poor  fool  affects,  leave  that  to  me." 


The  «lwarf  U-gnn  lii«  narmtlTe 
strutting  to  and  frt>  Uforr  .Miir;;rtrct ; 
hut  he  ended  it  in  her  arm*.  I'nr  she 
eould  not  <-ontain  herself,  hut  rnu(;ht 
him,  and  emhmred  him  wnnnly. 
"<>  (iileit,"  she  Hoid,  hlu.ihin^',  and 
ki.«.Hin(;  him.  "  I  cannot  kerp  my 
hand*  off  ih<v,  thy  l«>dy  it  in  so  little, 
and  thy  heart  so  pn-at.  Thou  art 
hi.H  true  friend.  Hle.Hs  thor !  bless 
thiv  !  blo.HS  thir !  Now  wc  nhall  see 
him  again.  We  have  not  s«'t  eyes  on 
him  since  that  terrible  <lav." 

"(irumcrey,  but  that  in  ittranpc," 
said  Giles.  "  MayU-  he  is  ashamed 
of  having  ctirsi-*!  ihoM-  two  vagaUmcs, 
U'ing  our  own  flesh  ami  blood,  worse 
luck." 

"  Think  you  that  is  why  he  hides  ?  " 
.said  Margaret,  eagerly. 

*•  Av,  if  he  is  hiding  at  nil.  How- 
ever, 1  'II  cry  him  by  bellman." 

•'  Nay,  that  might  much  offend 
him." 

'•  What  care  I  '  Is  Gouda  to  go 
vienrlcjis,  an<l  the  manse  in  nettles  1  " 

And,  to  Margant's  sttret  satisfac- 
tion, Oiles  hail  the  new  vicar  crii-d 
in  Rotterdam,  ami  the  neighboring 
towns.  He  easily  [wrsuade*!  Marga- 
ret that,  in  a  day  or  two,  (ierard 
would  Iw  sure  to  hear,  and  come  to 
his  licnefice.  She  went  to  lo«»k  at 
his  mnn.'ie,  and  thought  how  com- 
fortable it  might  be  made  for  him, 
and  how  dearly  she  should  love  to  do 
it. 

B«it  the  days  rolled  on,  and  Gc 
rani  came  neither  to  Hotterdam  nor 
(touda.  Ciiles  was  mortifie<l,  Marga- 
ret indignant  nnd  verv  wretched. 
She  said  to  hcr.self :  "  Thinking  mo 
dead,  he  comes  home,  and  now,  be- 
cause I  am  alive,  he  goes  back  to 
Italy  ;  for  that  is  where  he  has  gone." 

Joan  advised  her  to  consult  ths 
hermit  of  Gouda. 

"  Why,  sure  he  is  dead  by  this 
time." 

"  Yon  one,  belike.  But  the  cave 
is  never  long  void  ;  Gouda  ne'er  want* 
a  hermit." 

But  Margaret  declined  to  go  again 
to  Gouda  on  such  an  errand.    "  What 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


385 


can  he  know,  shut  up  in  a  cave  ?  less 
than  I,  belike.  Gerard  hutli  jrone  back 
t'  Italy.  He  hates  me  for  not  being 
dead." 

Presently  a  Tergovian  came  in 
with  a  word  from  Catherine  that 
Ghysbrccht  Van  Swieten  had  seen 
Gerard  later  than  any  one  else.  On 
this  Margaret  determined  to  go  and 
see  the  house  and  goods  that  had 
been  left  her,  and  take  Richt  Heynes 
home  to  Rotterdam.  And,  as  may 
be  supposed,  her  steps  took  her  first 
to  Ghysbrecht's  house.  She  found 
him  in  his  garden,  seated  in  a  chair 
with  wheels.  He  greeted  her  with  a 
feeble  voice,  but  cordially  ;  and  when 
she  asked  him  whether  it  was  true  he 
had  seen  Gerard  since  the  fifth  of 
August,  he  replied  :  "  Gerard  no  more, 
but  Friar  Clement.  Ay,  I  saw  him  ; 
and  blessed  be  the  day  he  entered  my 
house." 

He  then  related  in  his  own  words 
his  interview  with  Clement.  He  told 
her  moreover  that  the  friar  had  after- 
wards acknowledged  he  came  to  Ter- 
gou  with  the  missing  deed  in  his 
bosom  on  purpose  to  make  him  dis- 
gorge her  land  ;  but  that,  finding  him 
disposed  towards  penitence,  he  had 
gone  to  work  the  other  way. 

"  Was  not  this  a  saint,  who  came 
to  right  thee ;  but  must  needs  save 
his  enemy's  soul  in  the  doing  it  ?  " 

To  her  question,  whether  he  had 
recognized  him,  he  said :  "  I  ne'er 
suspected  such  a  thing.  'T  was  only 
when  he  had  been  three  days  with 
me  that  he  revealed  himself.  Listen 
while  I  speak  my  shame  and  his 
praise. 

"  I  said  to  him  :  '  The  land  is  gone 
home,  and  my  stomach  feels  lighter ; 
but  there  is  another  fault  that  cling- 
eth  to  me  still ' ;  then  I  told  him  of 
the  letter  I  had  writ  at  request  of  his 
brethren,  I  whose  place  it  was  to 
check  them.  Said  I :  "  Yon  letter 
v/as  writ  to  part  true  lovers,  and,  the 
Devil  aiding,  it  hath  done  the  foul 
work.  Land  and  houses  I  can  give 
back  ;  but  yon  mischief  is  done  for- 
ever.'  '  Nay,'  quoth  he,  '  not  forever ; 


but  for  life.  Repent  it  then  while 
thou  livcst.'  '  I  shall,'  said  I,  '  but 
how  can  God  forgive  it  ?  I  would 
not,'  said  I,  '  were  I  He.' 

" '  Yet  will  He  certainly  forgive 
it,'  quoth  he ;  '  for  He  is  ten  times 
more  forgiving  than  I  am  ;  and  I  for- 
give thee.'  I  stared  at  him ;  and 
then  he  said  softly,  but  quavering 
like  :  '  Ghysbrecht,  look  at  me  closer. 
I  am  Gerard  the  son  of  Eli.'  And  I 
looked,  and  looked,  and  at  last,  lo  ! 
it  was  Gerard.  Verily  I  had  fallen  at 
his  feet  with  shame  and  contrition ; 
but  he  would  not  suffer  me.  '  That 
became  not  mine  years  and  his,  for  a 
particular  fault.  1  say  not  I  forgive 
thee  without  a  struggle,'  said  he, 
'  not  being  a  saint.  But  these  three 
days  thou  hast  spent  in  penitence  I 
have  worn  under  thy  roof  in  prayer; 
and  I  do  forgive  thee.'  Those  were 
his  very  words." 

Margaret's  teats  began  to  flow  ;  for 
it  was  in  a  broken  and  contrite  voice 
the  old  man  told  her  this  unexpected 
trait  in  her  Gerard.  He  continued, 
"  And  even  with  that  he  bade  me 
farewell. 

"  '  My  work  here  is  done  now,' 
said  he.  I  had  not  the  heart  to  stay 
him  ;  for,  let  him  forgive  me  ever  so, 
the  sight  of  me  must  be  wormwood 
to  him.  He  left  me  in  peace,  and 
may  a  dying  man's  blessing  wait  on 
him,  go  where  he  will.  O  girl,  when 
I  think  of  his  wrongs,  and  thine,  and 
how  he  hath  avenged  himself  by  sav- 
ing this  stained  soul  of  mine,  my 
heart  is  broken  with  remorse,  and 
these  old  eyes  shed  tears  by  night 
and  day." 

"  Ghysbrecht,"  said  Margaret, 
weeping,  "  since  he  hath  forgiven 
thee,  I  forgive  thee  too  :  what  is  done, 
is  done ;  and  thou  hast  let  me  know 
this  day  that  which  I  had  walked  the 
world  to  hear.  But,  O  burgomaster, 
thou  art  an  understanding  man,  now 
help  a  poor  woman,  which  hath  for. 
given  thee  her  miserj'." 

She  then  told  him  all  that  had  be- 
fallen. "  And,"  said  she,  "  tliey  will 
not  keep  the  living  for  him  forevex. 


386 


THE  CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


He  bids  fair  to  lose  that,  ns  well  as 
break  all  our  hearts." 

"Call  my  servant,"  cried  the  bur- 
gomaster, with  siuldcn  viper. 

lie  sent  him  for  a  table  and  writing 
materials,  and  dictated  letters  to  the 
burgoma.'^ters  in  all  the  ])rineii)al 
towns  in  Holland,  and  one  to  a  Prus- 
sian authority,  his  friend.  His  clerk 
and  Margaret  wrote  them,  and  he 
signed  them.  "  There,"  said  he, 
"  the  matter  shall  In;  desjiatched 
throughout  Holland  by  trusty  couri- 
ers ;  and  as  far  as  Basic  in  Switzer- 
land ;  and  fear  not,  but  we  will  soon 
have  the  vicar  of  Gouda  to  his  \'il- 
lage." 

She  went  home  animated  with  fresh 
hopes,  and  aiciising  herself  of  ingrat- 
itude to  Gerard.  "  I  value  my  wealth 
now,"  said  she. 

She  also  made  a  resolution  never  to 
lilaine  his  conduct  till  she  should 
hear  from  his  own  lips  his  reasons. 

Not  long  after  her  return  from 
Tergou,  a  fresh  disaster  befell.  Cath- 
erine, I  must  premise,  had  secret 
interviews  with  the  black  sheep,  the 
wry  day  after  they  were  e.xpelled  ; 
antl  Cornells  followed  her  to  Tergou, 
and  lived  tlure  on  secret  contribu- 
tions ;  but  Sybrandt  chose  to  remain 
in  Rotterdam.  Ere  Catherine  left,  she 
asked  Margaret  to  lend  her  two  gold 
angels.  "  For,"  said  she,  "  all  mine 
arc  spent."  Margaret  was  delight- 
ed to  lend  them  or  give  them  ;  but  the 
words  were  .scarce  out  of  her  mouth, 
ere  she  eaiinht  a  look  of  regret  and 
distress  on  Kate's  face ;  and  she  saw 
directly  whither  her  money  was  going. 
She  gave  Catherine  the  money,  and 
went  and  shut  herself  up  with  her 
boy.  Now  this  money  was  to  last 
Sybrandt  till  his  mother  could  make 
some  good  excuse  for  visiting  Rotter- 
dam again ;  and  then  she  would 
bring  the  idle  dog  some  of  her  own 
industrious  scrapings. 

But  Sybrandt,  having  gold  in  his 
pocket,  thought  it  inexhaustible ;  and, 
being  now  under  no  shadow  of  re- 
straint, led  the  life  of  a  complete  sot ; 
until  one  afternoon,  in  a  drunken 


frolic,  he  dimlied  on  the  roof  of  the 
stable  at  the  inn  he  was  carousing  in, 
and  proceided  to  walk  along  it,  a  feat 
he  had  jxrformed  many  times  when 
.sober.  But  now  his  unsteady  brain 
made  his  legs  unsteady,  and  he  rolled 
down  the  roof  and  fell  with  n  loud 
thwack  on  to  a  hori/oiital  jialing, 
where  he  hung  a  moment  in  a  semi- 
circle :  then  toppled  over  and  lay 
silent  on  the  ground  amidst  roars  of 
laughter  from  his  Itoon  companions. 

When  they  came  to  pick  him  up  he 
could  not  stand  ;  but  fell  down  gig- 
gling at  each  attemjit. 

On  this  they  went  staggering  and 
roaring  down  the  street  with  him,  and 
carried  him,  at  great  risk  of  another 
fall,  t()  the  ^ho]>  in  the  Hoog  Stract. 
For  he  had  babbled  his  own  shame  all 
over  the  place. 

As  soon  as  he  saw  Margaret  he 
hiccoughed  out  :  "  Here  is  the  doctor 
that  cures  all  hurts  ;  a  boimy  la.ss." 
He  also  bade  her  observe  he  Iwre  her 
no  nuilicc,  for  he  was  paying  her  a 
visit,  sore  against  his  will.  "  Whertv 
fore,  j)rithce  send  away  these  drunk- 
ards ;  and  let  you  and  me  liavc 
t'other  glass,  to  drown  all  unkind- 
ncss." 

All  this  time  Margaret  wa.s  pale 
and  red  by  tunis  at  sight  of  her  ene- 
my and  at  his  insolence.  But  one  of 
the  men  whispered  what  had  hap- 
pened, and  a  streaky  something  in 
Sybrandt's  face  arrc>tcd  her  attention. 

"  And  he  cannot  stand  up,  say 
you  ?  " 

"  A  could  n't  just  now.  Try,  com- 
rade !     Be  a  man  now  !  " 

"  I  am  a  Utter  man  than  thou," 
roared  Sybrandt.  "  1  '11  stand  uj>  and 
tight  ye  all  for  a  crown." 

He  started  to  his  feet,  and  instantly 
rolled  into  his  attendant's  arms  with 
a  piteous  groan.  He  then  l)cgan  to 
curse  his  boon  companions,  and  de- 
clare they  had  stolen  away  his  legs. 
"  He  could  feel  nothing  below  the 
waist." 

"  Alas,  poor  wretch,"  said  Marga 
ret.  She  turned  verv-  gravely  to  the 
men,   and  said:  "  lleava  lim    hero. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


387 


And,  if  you  have  brouglit  him  to  this, 
go  on  your  knees ;  for  you  h;ivc 
spoiled  liiin  for  Ufe.  He  will  never 
walk  again  :  his  back  is  broken." 

The  drunken  man  caught  these 
words,  and  the  foolish  look  of  intoxi- 
cation fled,  and  a  glare  of  anguish 
took  its  place.  "  The  curse,"  he 
groaned,  —  "  the  curse  !  " 

Margaret  and  Ilicht  Heynes  car- 
ried him  carefully,  and  laid  him  on 
the  softest  bed. 

"  I  must  do  as  he  would  do,"  whis- 
pered Margaret.  "  He  was  kind  to 
Ghysbrecht." 

Her  opinion  was  verified.  Sy- 
brandt's  spine  was  fatally  injured  ; 
and  he  lay  groaning  and  helpless,  fed 
and  tended  by  her  ho  had  so  deeply 
injured. 

The  news  was  sent  to  Tergou,  and 
Catherine  came  over. 

It  was  a  terrible  blow  to  her.  More- 
over she  accused  herself  as  the  cause. 
"  O  false  wife,  0  weak  mother,"  she 
cried.  "  I  am  rightly  punished  for  my 
treason  to  my  poor  Eli." 

She  sat  for  hours  at  a  time  by  his 
bedside,  rocking  herself  in  silence ; 
and  was  never  quite  herself  again  ; 
and  the  first  gray  hairs  began  to  come 
in  her  poor  head  from  that  hour. 

As  for  Sybrandt,  all  his  cry  was 
now  for  Gerard.  He  used  to  whine 
to  Margaret  like  a  sutFering  hound  : 
"  0  sweet  Margaret,  O  bonny  Mar- 
garet, for  our  Lady's  sake,  find  Gerard, 
and  bid  him  take  his  curse  oif  me. 
Thou  art  gentle,  thou  art  good  ;  thou 
wilt  entreat  for  me,  and  ho  will  refuse 
thee  naught."  Catherine  shared  his 
belief  that  Gerard  could  cure  him, 
and  joined  her  entreaties  to  his.  Mar- 
garet hardly  needed  this.  The  bur- 
gomaster and  his  agents  having  failed, 
she  employed  her  own,  and  spent 
money  like  water.  And  among  these 
agents  poor  Luke  enrolled  himself 
She  met  him  one  day  looking  very 
thin,  and  spoke  to  him  compassionate- 
ly. On  this  he  began  to  blubber,  and 
say  he  was  more  miserable  than 
ever  ;  he  would  like  to  be  good  friends 
again  upon  almost  any  terms. 


"  Dear  heart,"  said  Margaret,  sor. 
rowfuUy,  "  why  can  you  not  say  to 
yourself,  now  I  am  her  little  brother, 
and  she  is  my  old,  married  sister, 
worn  down  with  care  ?  Say  so,  and 
I  will  indulge  thee,  and  pet  thee,  and 
make  thee  happier  than  a  prince." 

"  Well,  I  will,"  said  Luke,  savage- 
ly, "  sooner  than  keep  away  from  you 
altogether.  But,  above  all,  give  me 
something  to  do.  Perchance  I  may 
have  better  luck  this  time." 

"  Get  me  my  marriage  lines,"  said 
Margaret,  turning  sad  and  gloomy  in 
a  moment. 

"  That  is  as  much  as  to  say,  get 
me  him  !  for  where  they  are  he  is." 

"  Not  so.  He  may  refuse  to  come 
nigh  me ;  but  certes  he  will  not  deny 
a  poor  woman,  who  loved  him  once, 
her  lines  of  betrothal.  How  can  she 
go  without  them  into  any  honest 
man's  house  ?  " 

"  I  '11  get  them  you  if  they  are  in 
Holland,"  said  Luke. 

"  They  are  as  like  to  be  in  Rome," 
replied  Margaret. 

"  Let  us  begin  with  Holland,"  ob- 
served Luke,  prudently. 

The  slave  of  love  was  furnished 
with  money  by  his  soft  tyrant,  and 
wandered  hither  and  thither,  cooper- 
ing and  carpentering,  and  looking 
for  Gerard.  "  I  can't  be  worse  if  I 
find  the  vagabone,"  said  he,  "  and  I 
may  be  a  hantle  better." 

The  months  rolled  on,  and  Sy- 
brandt improved  in  spirit  but  not  in 
body ;  he  was  Margaret's  pensioner 
for  life ;  and  a  long-expected  sorrow 
fell  npon  poor  Catherine,  and  left  her 
still  more  bowed  down ;  and  she  lost 
her  fine,  hearty,  bustling  way,  and 
never  went  about  the  house  singing 
now  ;  and  her  nerves  Avcre  shaken, 
and  she  lived  in  dread  of  some  terri- 
ble misfortune  falling  on  Cornells. 
The  curse  was  laid  on  him  as  well  as 
Sybrandt. 

She  prayed  Eli,  if  she  had  been  a 
faithful  partner  all  these  years,  to 
take  Cornells  into  his  house  again  : 
and  let  her  live  awhile  at  Rotterdam. 

"  I  have  good  daughters  here,"  said 


388 


THE  CLOISTER   AND  TIIP:   ITEARTn. 


she ;  "  liut  Marjj^ant  is  so  tender  and  ' 
tliou^'htfiil,  iiikI  the  little  Gcnird,   lie 
16  my  joy  ;  he  jrrows  lik«r  liis  lather 
every  day,  and  iiis  prattk'  elitvrs  inv 
heavy  la-art ;  and  I  do  lovfchihln-n. 

.'\n<l  Kli,  sturdy  but  kindly,  con- 
sented sorrowfully. 

And  the  jR-ojileof  (Jouda  |Ktitioned 
the  duke  lor  a  viear,  a  real  viear. 
"  Ours  eonicth  never  ni;,'h  us,"  saitl 
they,  "  this  six  months  jiast :  our 
children  they  die  unehristencd,  and 
our  folk  unhuried,  except  hy  some 
chance  comer."  Giles's  inHuenec  baf- 
fled this  just  eoniplaiiit  oiue  ;  but  a 
second  petition  was  jirepand,  and  he 
pave  Mar;;aret  little  1io|k;  that  the 
present  j)o>ition  could  be  mainttiined 
a  single  day. 

So  then  Margaret  went  sorrowfidly 
to  the  j)rctty  manse  to  sec  it  for  the 
last  time  ere  it  should  pjiss  forever  in- 
to a  stran;,'er's  hands. 

"  I  think  he  would  have  In'cn  linj>- 
j)y  here,"  she  said,  and  turned,  heart- 
sick, away. 

On  their  return,  Kieht  Ilcynes 
])roposed  to  her  to  j,'o  and  consult  the 
hermit. 

"What!"  said  Marpnret,  "Joan 
has  been  at  you.  She  is  the  one  tor 
hermits.  I  'II  po,  if  't  is  but  to  show 
thee  they  know  no  more  than  we  do." 
And  they  went  to  the  cave. 

It  was  an  excavation,  jiartly  notn- 
ral,  partly  artificial,  in  a  bank  of 
rock  overprown  by  brambles.  There 
was  a  rouph  stone  door  tm  hinpes, 
and  a  little  window  hiph  up,  and 
two  apertures,  throuph  one  of  which 
the  people  announced  their  gifts  to 
the  hermit,  and  put  questions  of  all 
sorts  to  him  ;  and,  when  he  chose  to 
answer,  his  voice  came,  dissonant  and 
monstrous,  out  at  another  small  aper- 
ture. 

On  the  face  of  the  rock  this  line 
■was  cut ".  — 

gelir  qui  in  Soinino  nijru^  ab  crbc  fii^it. 

Marparet  obsencd  to  her  compan- 
ion that  this  was  new  since  she  was 
here  last. 

"  Ay,"  said  Richt,  "  like  enough," 


and  lo<iked  up  at  it  with  nwc.  Writing 
even  on  pajn-r  she  thoupht  no  triflf  ; 
but  on  ro«k  ! 

She  whis|MTed  :  "  'T  is  a  far  holier 
liermit  than  the  last;  he  u.st-d  tocuina 
iji  the  ti>wn  now  and  then  ;  but  thi« 
one  ne'er  shows  his  face  to  mortal 
num." 

"  And  this  is  holiness  ?  " 

"  Av,  sure." 

"  Then  what  n  saint  a  dormotus 
must  1)0 !  " 

"  Out,  fie,  ini"itrrss  Would  ye 
even  a  Ix-a-st  to  a  man  ?  " 

"  Come,  Kii  ht,"  said  Morparct, 
"  my  jMtor  father  tauplit  me  over- 
much. So  I  will  t'iMi  sit  here,  nnd 
look  at  the  nianse  once  more.  Go 
thou  forward  and  ({uestion  thy  ooli- 
tary ;  and  tell  me  wliether  yc  pet 
naupht  or  nonsense  out  of  him  ;  for 
't  will  Ik-  one." 

As  Kielit  drew  near  the  cave,  a 
numUr  of  bird.t  Hew  out  of  it.  She 
pave  a  Uttle  scream,  and  |M)inte<l  to 
the  cave  to  show  Marpimt  they  had 
come  thence.  On  this  Marparet  felt 
sure  then-  was  no  hnmaii  Uiiip  in  the 
cave,  anil  pave  tlu-  matter  no  further 
attention.  She  fell  into  a  dw-p  rcv- 
erv'  while  liMikinp  at  the  little  manse. 

She  was  startled  from  it  by  Uieht's 
hand  u]><>n  her  should<-r,  and  a  faint 
voice  sayinp,  "  Ix-t  us  po  home." 

"  You     pot    no     answer    at    all, 
Richt,"  said  Marparet,  calmly. 
I      "  No,      Marparet,"      said      Richt, 
!  desjtondently.      And    they    retumeJ 

home. 
'  IVrhaps,  after  all,  Marparet  had 
'  nourished  some  faint,  secret  hoj)c  in 
her  heart,  thouph  her  reo.'«n  had  re- 
jected it ;  for  she  certainly  went  home 
more  dejectedly. 

Just  as  they  entered  Rotterdam, 
Richt  s.iid  :  ''Stay!  O  Marparet, 
I  am  ill  at  deceit ;  but  't  is  death  to  ut- 
ter ill  news  to  thee,  I  love  tlueso  dear." 

"  Speak  out,  sweetheart,"  said  Mar- 
paret. "  I  have  pone  throuph  so 
much,  I  am  almost  past  feelinp  any 
fresh  trouble." 

"  Marparet,  the  hermit  did  speak 
to  me." 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


389 


"  What,  a  hermit  there,  among  all 
those  birds  ? " 

"  Ay  ;  and  doth  not  that  show  him 
a  holy  man  ?  " 

"I'  God's  name,  what  said  he  to 
thee,  Richt  ?  " 

"Alas  !  Margaret,  I  told  him  thy 
story,  and  I  prayed  him,  for  our  La- 
dy's sake,  tell  me  where  thy  Gerard 
is.  And  I  waited  long  for  an  answer, 
and  presently  a  voice  came  like  a  trum- 
pet :  '  Pray  for  the  soul  of  Gerard,  the 
son  of  Eli ! '  " 

"Ah!" 

"  0,  woe  is  me  that  I  have  this  to 
tell  thee,  sweet  Margai'et!  bethink 
thee  thou  hast  thy  boy  to  live  for  j'ct." 

"  Let  me  go  home,"  said  Margaret, 
faintly. 

Passing  down  the  Brede  Kirk 
S  tract,  they  saw  Joan  at  the  door. 

liicht  said  to  her :  "  Eh,  woman, 
she  has  been  to  your  hermit,  and  heard 
no  good  news." 

"  Come  in,"  said  Joan,  eager  for  a 
gossip. 

Margaret  would  not  go  in.  But 
she  sat  down  disconsolate  on  the  low- 
est step  but  one  of  the  little  external 
staircase  that  led  into  Joan's  house ; 
and  let  the  other  two  gossip  their  fill 
at  the  top  of  it. 

"  O,"  said  Joan,  "  what  yon  hermit 
says  is  sure  to  be  sooth.  He  is  that 
holy,  I  am  told,  that  the  very  birds 
consort  with  him." 

"What  does  that  prove?"  said 
Margaret,  deprccatingly.  "  I  have 
seen  my  Gerard  tame  the  birds  in 
winter  till  they  would  eat  from  his 
hand." 

A  look  of  pity  at  this  parallel 
passed  between  the  other  two.  But  they 
were  both  too  fond  of  her  to  say  what 
they  thought.  Joan  proceeded  to  re- 
late all  the  marvellous  tales  she  had 
heard  of  this  hermit's  sanctit}-.  How 
he  never  came  out  but  at  night,  and 
prayed  among  the  wolves,  and  they 
never  molested  him  :  and  how  he  bade 
the  people  not  bring  him  so  much 
food  to  pamper  his  body,  but  to  bring 
him  candles. 


"  The  candles  are  to  burn  before 
his  saint,"  whispered  Richt,  solemn- 
ly- 

"  Ay,  lass ;  and  to  read  his  holy 
books  wi'.  A  neighbor  o'  mine  saw 
his  hand  come  out,  and  the  birds  sat 
thereon  and  pecked  crumbs.  She 
went  for  to  kiss  it ;  but  the  holy  man 
whippit  it  away  in  a  trice.  They  can't 
abide  a  woman  to  touch  'em,  or  even 
look  at  'em,  saints  can't." 

"  What  like  was  liis  hand,  wife  ? 
Did  you  ask  her  ?  " 

"  What  is  my  tongue  for,  else  1 
Why,  dear  heart,  all  one  as  ourn  :  by 
the  same  token  a  had  a  thumb  and 
four  fingers." 

"  Look  ye  there  now." 

"  But  a  deal  whiter  nor  yourn  and 
mine." 

"  Ay,  ay." 

"  And  main  skinny." 

"  Alas." 

"  What  could  ye  expect  ?  Why,  a 
live  upon  air  and  prayer ;  and  can- 
dles." 

"Ah,  well,"  continued  Joan,  "  poor 
thing,  I  whiles  think  't  is  best  for  her 
to  know  the  worst.  And  now  she 
hath  gotten  a  voice  from  heaven,  or 
almost  as  good  :  and  behooves  her 
pray  for  his  soul.  One  thing,  she  is 
not  so  poor  now  as  she  was  ;  and 
never  fell  riches  to  a  better  hand ;  and 
she  is  only  come  into  her  own  for 
that  matter ;  so  she  can  pay  the  priest 
to  say  masses  for  him,  and  that  is  a 
great  comfort." 

In  the  midst  of  their  gossip,  Mar- 
garet, in  whose  ears  it  was  all  buzzing, 
though  she  seemed  lost  in  thought,  got 
softly  up,  and  crept  away  with  her 
eyes  on  the  ground,  and  her  brows 
bent. 

"  She  hath  forgotten  I  am  with 
her,"    said     Richt     Heynes,    rueful- 

ly- 

She  had  her  gossip  out  with  Joan, 
and  then  went  home. 

She  found  Margaret  seated  cutting 
out  a  pelisse  of  gray  cloth,  and  a  cape 
to  match.  Little  Gerard  was  stand- 
ing at  her  side,  inside  her  left  arm, 
eying  the  work,  and  making  it  more 


390 


THE   CLUISILK    AND    IlIK    IIKAKTH. 


ilifTicult  by  wTi;rj,'liiit,'  about,  and  fin- 
fri-rin;,'  the  iiriii  wiili  whii-d  shf  liolil 
till-  (lotli  stt'uily  ;  to  nil  wliirh  Ahc 
Kuliiiiittc<l  with  iinpcrtiirljniile  piiticnn- 
ftn<l  compiaci'iu-y.  Fiincy  n  iiiuK- 
wurkiiiiin  so  iMituii;;lf<i,  ini|M-<lc<|, 
\vnrrii'<l  ! 

"  Ot  'a  that,  mammy  '  " 

"  A  pvlisM',  my  jii't." 

"  Ot 's  a  p'lissc  '  " 

"A  trrwit  frtx'k  And  thi«  i«  the 
cape  to  't." 

"Ot  's  it  for'  " 

"  To  kivp  liis  NkIv  fn>m  tho  cold  ; 
and  the  cuik-  is  for  fiis  !>houldept,  or 
to  ^o  over  his  licuil  like  the  countr}' 
folk.     'T  i.s  for  a  hcniiit." 

"  Ot  "s  a  'cnnit  ?  " 

"  A  holy  man  that  livc»  in  a  cave 
lill  hv  liimsclf" 

"  in  di-  dark  ?  " 

"  Av,  whiles." 

"  Ofi !  " 

In  the  mominp  Richt  wan  !<ont  to 
tlic  iR-miit  with  the  |)idi.HM.<  ami  a 
ptmnd  of  thick  candles. 

As  she  wa.s  ijoin;:  out  of  the  iloor, 
Mar;,'arct  .-aid  to  her,  "  Saici  you 
whose  son  (icrard  was  ?  " 

"  Nay,  not  I." 

"  'riiink,  f,'irl !  How  could  ho  call 
him  tJcrard,  son  of  Kli,  if  you  had  not 
told  him  ?  " 

Hicht  pcrsisti"*!  she  hail  never  men- 
tioned him  but  as  pl.ain  Gerard.  Hut 
Mar;:an"t  told  her  Hatlv  she  cflrt  not 
iK'lieve  her;  at  which  I{icht  was  af- 
fronted, and  went  out  with  a  little 
toss  of  the  head.  However.she  deter- 
mined to  question  the  hermit  a^ain, 
and  did  not  doubt  he  would  l)e  more 
liberal  in  his  communication,  when 
he  saw  his  nice  new  jielisse  and  the 
candles. 

She  had  not  been  pone  lonp  when 
Giles  came  in  with  ill  news.  The  liv- 
ing of  Gouda  would  be  kept  vacant 
no  longer. 

Marfraret  was  preatly  distressed  at 
this.  "()  (Jiles,"  said  she,  "ask  for 
another  month.  They  will  give  thee 
another  month,  maybe." 

lie  returned  in  an  hour  to  tell  her 
he  could  not  get  a  month.     "  They 


have  pivcn  mo  n  wwk,"  *aid  he.  "  Acd 
what  is  a  week  '  " 

"  Druwninp  lioitini  rairh  at  siniw- 
en,"  wiiji  her  reply.     "  A  work  f  m  hl- 

tle  Vkttk  '  " 

Kuht  came  b.i.  '.  '-  -  '  r  errnml 
out  of  tjiirits     l|.  'JM'linetl 

all  funlier    comtii  St^i    at 

U-a.tl  itx  otMtinate  »ilcnrL>  might  fnirijr 
U'  intcq»retwl. 

The  next  day  .Murtrnn't  put  Uichi 
in  charv'e  of  the  fhop,  und  tli*Mp|icar«-<i 
all  day.  So  the  next  day,  and  mi 
the  next  Nor  wduM  <the  tell  any 
one  when-  »he  had  \»-vn.  I'erhaiM 
ithc  wa.0  ashamed.  The  fact  i*  nno 
Kpent  all  thoM'  ilayii  on  one  little  HpoC 
of  pround.  When  thev  ihoupht  ner 
dreamin;;  nhe  was  apiilyinp  to  every 
word  thikt  fell  from  Joan  and  Hieht 
the  whi.lr  jK)wers  ot  a  fur  acutrr  mind 
tluin  either  of  them  |x»HHt«Mc«L 

She  went  to  work  on  a  M-ale  thai 
never  oceurre*!  to  eith«-r  of  th.-m.  8I10 
wa.s  determined  to  s«.t>  the  hennit.  n'u\ 
ipie^^tion  him  ftu-v  to  fm-i-.  not  liiioi.ph 
a  wall.      Sle  '.  ;iii;  « 

cin-iiit  ihe  .  .ive, 

and  look  d>'V. ..  ..  •,  hjr 

the  solitnrv .     lii  '   to 

lio  it  she  tound  ni:  :;ia<is 

of  brambles.  After  tcannp  her  i  lothc* 
and  her  hands  and  fet>t,  ut  that  sho 
wa-s  »o«>n  covered  with  IiIimhI,  tl»c  res. 
olute,  patient  jjirl  tof)k  out  her  iiriiu 
.lom  and  steadily  »nif>j>»"d  and  c«it  till 
she  maile  a  narn»w  jmth  through  the 
enemy.  But  .<k>  .«lon-  wa*  the  work 
that  she  had  to  leave  it  half  done. 
The  next  <lay  she  ha<l  her  nci-Mor* 
fn-sh  p-otinil,  and  brou;cht  a  «harp 
knife  as  well ;  and  irently,  silentlv  cut 
herway  to  the  r»K)fof  the  cave,  "fht-re 
.<*he  mad"'  an  ambush  of  some  of  the 
cut  bnind)les,  so  that  the  j»as*rrs-bv 
might  not  sec  her,  anil  (-ouehed  w  ith 
watchful  eye  till  the  hennit  should 
come  out.  She  heard  him  move  un- 
derneath her.  But  he  never  left  his 
cell.  She  U-gnn  to  think  it  was  true 
that  he  only  came  out  at  nicht.  The 
next  <lay  she  came  early,  and  brought 
a  jerkin  she  was  making  for  little 
Gerard,   and   there  she  *at   all  day 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


391 


working  and  watching  with  dogged 
patience. 

At  four  o'clock  the  birds  began  to 
feed ;  and  a  great  many  of  the  smaller 
kinds  came  fluttering  round  the  cave, 
and  one  or  two  went  in.  But  most 
of  them,  taking  a  preliminary  scat  on 
foe  bushes,  suddenly  discovered  Mar- 
garet, and  went  oft"  with  an  agitated 
flirt  of  their  little  wings.  And  al- 
though they  sailed  about  in  the  air 
they  would  not  enter  the  cave.  Pres- 
ently, to  encourage  them,  the  hermit, 
all  unconscious  of  the  cause  of  their 
tremors,  put  out  a  thin  white  hand 
with  a  few  crunil)s  in  it.  Margaret 
laid  down  her  work  softl}' ,  and,  gliding 
her  body  forward  like  a  snake,  looked 
down  at  it  from  above :  it  was  but  a 
few  fleet  from  her.  It  was  as  the  wo- 
man described  it,  a  thin  white  hand. 

Presently  the  other  hand  came  out 
with  a  piece  of  bread,  and  the  two 
hands  together  broke  it  and  scattered 
the  crumbs. 

But  that  other  hand  had  hardly 
been  out  two  seconds  ere  the  violet 
eyes  that  were  watching  above  di- 
lated, and  the  gentle  bosom  heaved, 
and  the  whole  frame  quivered  like  a 
leaf  in  the  wind. 

What  her  swift  eye  had  seen  I  leave 
the  reader  to  guess.  She  suppressed 
the  scream  that  rose  to  her  lips ;  but 
the  effort  cost  her  dear.  Soon  the 
left  hand  of  the  hermit  began  to  swim 
indistinctly  before  her  gloating  eyes  : 
and  with  a  deep  sigh  her  head  drooped, 
and  she  lay  like  a  broken  lily. 

She  was  in  a  deep  swoon,  to  which 
perhaps  her  long  fast  to-day,  and  the 
agitation  and  sleeplessness  of  many 
preceding  days,  contributed. 

And  there  lay  beauty,  intelligence, 
and  constancy,  pale  and  silent.  And 
little  that  hermit  guessed  who  was  so 
near  him.  The  little  birds  hopped  on 
her  now  ;  and  one  nearly  entangled 
his  little  feet  in  her  rich,  auburn  hair. 

She    came   back   to   her   troubles. 

The  sun  was  set.     She  was  very  cold. 

She  cried  a  little  ;  but  1  think  it  was 

partly  from  the  remains  of  physical 

17* 


weakness.  And  then  she  went  home, 
praying  God  and  the  saints  to  en- 
lighten her  and  teach  her  what  to  do 
for  the  best. 

When  she  got  home  she  was  pale 
and  hysterical,  and  would  say  nothing 
in  answer  to  all  their  questions  but 
her  fovorite  word,  "  We  are  wading 
in  deep  waters." 

The  night  seemed  to  have  done 
wonders  for  her. 

She  came  to  Catherine  who  was 
sitting  sighing  by  the  fireside,  and 
kissed  her,  and  said,  "  Mother,  what 
would  you  like  best  in  the  world  ?  " 

"  Eh,  dear,"  replied  Catherine, 
despondently.  "  I  know  naught  that 
would  make  me  smile  now ;  1  liave 
parted  from  too  many  that  were  dear 
to  me.  Gerard  lost  again  as  soon  as 
found.  Kate  in  heaven ;  and  Sy- 
brandt  down  for  life." 

"  Poor  mother !  mother  dear,  Gouda 
manse  is  to  be  furnished,  and  cleaned, 
and  made  ready  all  in  a  hurry.  See, 
here  be  ten  gold  angels.  Make  them 
go  far,  good  mother ;  for  I  have  ta'en 
over  many  already  from  my  boy  for  a 
set  of  useless  loons  that  were  aye  go- 
ing to  find  him  for  me." 

Catherine  and  Richt  stared  at  her 
a  moment  in  silence  ;  and  then  out 
burst  a  flood  of  questions,  to  none  of 
which  would  she  give  a  reply.  "  Nay," 
said  she,  "  I  have  lain  on  my  bed,  and 
thought,  and  thought,  and  thought, 
whiles  you  were  all  sleeping;  and 
methinks  I  have  got  the  clew  to  all. 
I  love  you,  dear  mother ;  but  I  '11 
trust  no  woman's  tongue.  If  I  fail 
this  time,  I  '11  have  none  to  blame  but 
Margaret  Brandt." 

A  resolute  woman  is  a  very  resolute 
thing.  And  there  was  a  deep,  dogged 
determination  in  Margaret's  voice 
and  brow,  that  at  once  convinced 
Catherine  it  would  be  idle  to  put  any 
more  questions  at  that  time.  She 
and  Richt  lost  themselves  in  conjec- 
tures ;  and  Catherine  whispered 
Richt :  "  Bide  quiet ;  then  't  will  leak 
out  "  ;  a  shrewd  piece  of  advice  founds 
ed  on  general  observation. 


302 


THE   CLOISTKH   AND   THK   IIKAKTH. 


Within  an  hour  rnthorino  was  on 
the  roiul  to  (jnuda  in  ii  i-art  with  two 
stout  ^'irls  to  litlp  lur,  nml  <ii»itf  a 
skf^c  iirtilliTV  of  mops,  and  jMiils,  and 
brushes.  Slie  tame  hack  with  hfi>;lit- 
cncil  color  and  soini-tliin;;  of  tin-  old 
sparkle  in  her  eve,  and  kissed  Mar- 
garet with  a  silent  warmth  that  sjKike 
voltiines  ;  and  at  live  in  the  morning 
was  oil  a;;ain  to  Gouda. 

That  ni^lit  as  Hieht  was  in  her 
first  sleep,  a  hand  (gently  jiresseil  her 
shoulder,  and  she  awoke,  and  wu-s  gi>- 
in>;  to  sereani. 

"  Whisht,"  said  Marjraret,  ami  put 
her  tiii;:er  to  her  lips. 

She  then  whispered.  "  Mists  soft- 
ly, lion  thy  habits,  and  come  with 
me !  " 

When  she  came  down,  Margaret 
l>ej.'j,'ed  her  to  loose  Dragon  and  hrinjj 
him  alonp.  Now  Dra^'on  was  a;;n'nt 
mastirt",  who  had  <;unrilfd  Martjarvt 
Van  Kyek  and  Hieht,  two  lone  wo- 
men, for  some  years,  and  was  devoted- 
ly attached  to  the  latter. 

.Mar;.'arit  and  Hieht  went  out  with 
I)ra;;on  walkinj;  majestically  Uhind 
them.  They  came  hack  lony  after 
midnit;ht  and  retired   to  rest. 

Catherine  never  knew. 

Mar;rarct  n-ai!  her  friends  :  she  saw 
tlie  sturdy,  faithful  Frisian  could  hold 
her  tonjjue  ;  and  Catherine  could  not. 
Yet  I  am  not  sure  she  would  have 
trusted  even  Hieht,  had  her  ner>-e 
equalled  her  spirit :  hut,  with  all  her 
darin;;  and  resolution,  she  was  a  ten- 
der, timid  wonmn,  a  little  afniid  of 
the  dark,  very  afraiil  of  l)cinjj  alone 
in  it,  and  desperately  afraid  of  wolves. 
Now  Drajxon  could  kill  a  wolf  in  a 
brace  of  shakes  ;  but  then  Dratron 
•would  not  go  with  her.  but  only  with 
Richt.  So  altogether  she  made  one 
confidante. 

The  next  night  they  made  another 
moonlit^ht  rcconnoissance ;  and,  os  I 
think,  with  some  result.  For  not  the 
next  night  (it  rained  that  ni^rht  and 
extinguished  their  couratrc),  but  the 
next  after,  they  took  with  them  a  com- 
panion; the  last  in  the  world  Hieht 
Hemes  would  have  thought  of;  yet 


she  iruve  lier  warm  approval  as  kmni 
a.s  she  wa.H  told  he  was  to  |^  with 
them. 

Imagine  how  the^tc  iitealthr  a«sail- 
unt.H  trembletl  and  pant4Ml,  when  the 
moment  of  action  cumc  :  ima^tie,  if 
vou  can,  the  tumult  in  Mur^'urvl's 
l>reai(t,  the  thnlliiiL;  Iio|k-^,  chiising 
and  ehuced  by  iti<-keiiin^  feant ;  the 
ittranp-,  and  pcrhafi*  un|>umlli;l<Nl 
mixtun-  of  tender  familiarity,  and  dis- 
tant awe,  with  which  a  Itively,  and 
liigh-spiriti'd,  but  tender,  ndoniic  wo- 
nian,  wife  in  the  eye  of  the  Law,  an<l 
no  wife  in  the  eye  of  the  Chun-h, 
tremblin:;.  blushing,  paling,  glowing, 
shivering,  -Hlole  at  ni;;ht,  noi.M-le.s.H  as 
the  tiew-,  upon  the  hermit  of  (ioiida. 

And  tlie  Htant  aliovc  scvmcd  never 
so  bri''ht  and  culm. 


CFIATTKH  XCII. 

\t:n.  the  hermit  of  Gouda  was  the 
vicar  of  (fou<la,  and  knew  it  nut,  so 
absolute  was  his  sivlu.Hion. 

My  n-oiier  is  aware  r'  ''  *'  mo- 
ment the  frenryof  hi.f  j  d, 
he  was  .seized  with  nm"t  nig 
Ikx'u  U'trayeil  into  it.  IJut  iR-rhaiM 
only  those  who  have  risen  as  nigh  in 
religious  spirit  os  he  had,  an<l  siidilen- 
ly  fallen,  can  n-alize  the  terror  at 
liims<'lf  that  to«»k  j)ossession  of  liim. 
He  felt  like  one  whom  m  lf-<<>nfidonco 
had  U'trayi-ti  to  the  verv  ed;:e  of  a 
precipice.  "  Ah,  goo«l  .)erf>me,"  he 
criefl,  "  how  much  l)etter  you  knew 
me  than  I  knew  myself!  How  bitter 
yet  wholesome  was  your  ailmoni- 
tion  !  " 

Accust*>me<l  to  .search  his  own  heart, 
he  saw  at  once  that  the  true  cause  of 
his  fury  was  Margaret.  "  I  love  her 
then  better  tlian  Gwl,"  said  he,  de- 
spairingly, "  U'tter  than  the  Church. 
F  rom  such  a  love  what  can  spring  to 
me,  or  to  her  ?  "  He  shudilere«l  at  the 
thought.  "  Let  the  strong  battle 
temptation  ;  't  is  for  the  weak  to  flee. 
And  who  is  weaker  than  I  hare 
shown  myself  J     What  is  mj  pen> 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


393 


tence,  my  religion  ?  A  pack  of  cards 
built  by  degrees  into  a  fair-seeming 
Btructure;  and,  lo !  one  breath  of 
earthly  love,  and  it  lies  in  the  dust. 
I  must  begin  again  ;  and  on  a  surer 
foundation."  He  resolved  to  leave 
Holland  at  once,  and  spend  years  of 
his  life  in  some  distant  convent  before 
returning  to  it.  By  that  time  the 
temptations  of  earthly  passion  would 
be  doubly  baffled ;  an  older  and  a 
better  monk,  he  should  be  more  mas- 
ter of  his  earthly  affections,  and  Mar- 
garet, seeing  herself  abandoned,  would 
marry,  and  love  another.  The  very 
anguish  this  last  thought  cost  him 
showed  the  self-searcher  and  self-deni- 
er that  he  was  on  the  path  of  religious 
duty. 

But,  in  leaving  her  for  his  immortal 
good  and  hers,  he  was  not  to  neglect 
her  temporal  weal.  Indeed,  the  sweet 
tiiought  he  could  make  her  comforta- 
ble for  life,  and  rich  in  this  world's 
goods,  which  she  was  not  bound  to 
despise,  sustained  him  in  the  bitter 
struggle  it  cost  him  to  turn  his  back 
on  her  without  one  kind  word  or  look. 
"  0,  what  will  she  think  of  mel  "  he 
groaned.  "  Shall  I  not  seem  to  her 
of  all  creatures  the  most  heartless,  in- 
human ?  but  so  best :  ay,  better  she 
should  liate  me,  miserable  that  I  am. 
Heaven  is  merciful,  and  giveth  my 
broken  heart  this  comfort ;  I  can  make 
that  villain  restore  her  own,  and  she 
shall  never  lose  another  true  lover  by 
poverty.  Another '?  Ah  me !  ah 
me !  God  and  the  saints  to  mine 
aid  !  " 

How  he  fared  on  this  errand  has 
been  related.  But  first,  as  you  may 
perhaps  remember,  he  went  at  night 
to  shrive  the  hermit  of  Gouda.  He 
found  him  dying,  and  never  left  him 
till  he  had  closed  his  eyes  and  buried 
him  beneath  the  floor  of  the  little  or- 
atory attached  to  his  cell.  It  was  the 
peaceful  end  of  a  stormy  life.  The 
hermit  had  been  a  soldier,  and  even 
now  carried  a  steel  corselet  next  his 
skin,  saying  he  was  now  Christ's  sol- 
dier as  he  had  been  Satan's.  When 
Clement  had  shriven  him  and  prayed 


by  him,  he,  in  his  turn,  sought  coun- 
sel of  one  who  was  dying  in  so  pious 
a  frame.  The  hermit  advised  him  to 
be  his  successor  in  this  peaceful  re- 
treat. "  His  had  been  a  hard  fight 
against  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the 
Devil,  and  he  had  never  thoroughly 
baflled  them  till  he  retired  into  the 
citadel  of  Solitude." 

These  words,  and  the  hermit's  pious 
and  peaceful  death,  which  speedily 
followed,  and  set  ixs  it  were  the  seal 
of  immortal  truth  on  them,  made  a 
deep  impression  upon  Clement.  Nor 
in  his  case  had  the\'  any  prejudice  to 
combat ;  the  solitary  recluse  was  still 
profoundly  revered  in  the  Church, 
whether  immured  as  an  anchorite,  or 
anchoress,  in  some  cave  or  cell  be- 
longing to  a  monastery,  or  hidden  in 
the  more  savage  but  laxer  seclusion 
of  the  independent  hermitage.  And 
Clement  knew  more  about  the  hermits 
of  the  Church  than  most  divines  at 
his  time  of  life ;  he  had  read  much 
thereon  at  the  monastery  near  Ter- 
gou ;  had  devoured  their  lives  with 
wonder  and  delight  in  the  manuscripts 
of  the  Vatican,  and  conversed  ear- 
nestly about  them  with  the  mendicant 
friars  of  several  nations.  Before 
Printing  these  friars  were  the  great 
circulators  of  those  local  annals  and 
biographies  which  accumulated  in  the 
convents  of  every  land.  Then  his 
teacher,  Jerome,  had  been  three  years 
an  anchorite  on  the  heights  of  Camal- 
doli,  where  for  more  than  four  centu- 
ries the  Thebaid  had  been  revived ; 
and  Jerome,  cold  and  curt  on  most 
religious  themes,  was  warm  with  en- 
thusiasm on  this  one.  He  had  pored 
over  the  annals  of  St.  John  Baptist's 
abbey,  round  about  which  the  hermits' 
caves  were  scattered,  and  told  him  the 
names  of  many  a  noble,  and  many  a 
famous  warrior,  who  hud  ended  his 
days  there  a  hermit,  and  of  many  a 
bishop  and  archbishop  who  had  passed 
from  the  see  to  the  hermitage,  or  from 
the  hermitage  to  the  see.  Among  the 
former  the  archbishop  of  Ravenna; 
among  the  latter  Pope  Victor  the 
Nipth,     He  told  him  too,  with  grim 


394 


THE  CLOISTER   AXI>   THE   m'.ARTIL 


dclifjlit,  of  thiir  multifrtrioiu  nusu-ri- 
tics,  anil  how  ciirli  lurmit  .-ft  hiiiiM-lf 
to  tiinl  wluro  ho  wiis  wiaki'.Ht,  ami  iit- 
tackttl  himself  without  nuTiy  or  rv- 
niission  till  tlu-ro,  t-vi-n  there,  he  was 
stroiiKO-^'t.  Ami  how  m.vi'ii  tiinct  in 
the  twiiity-foiir  hours,  in  thumlcr, 
rain,  or  snow,  hy  ilayli^jht.  twili;;hk, 
nioonliuht,  or  torihli;;ht,  the  soliiarii-s 
Hocked  (n>m  dotant  jxiintM,  over 
ru;r;:i.«l,  jtri-cipitous  ways,  t<i  worship 
in  the  convent  <  hunli ;  at  matins,  at 
prinio,  tierce,  sexte,  nones,  vesjieni, 
and  coinjjlin.  He  even,  under  iu;;fr 
questionint;,  dcscrilK-*!  to  him  the  in-r- 
^;ons  of  famous  anchorites  he  nad 
Bun;;  the  Psalter  and  pruveil  with 
there  ;  the  only  intercourse  tlieir  vows 
i'.Uowe<l,  except  with  s|)i'eial  jn-rmis- 
bion.  Moncata,  Duke  of  ^loncata 
and  Cardova,  and  Hidalgo  of  Spnin, 
who  in  the  tlower  of  his  youth  hnd  re- 
tired thither  from  the  |>oinps,  vanitie.4, 
and  pleasures  of  the  WDrld  ;  Father 
John  Haptist  of  N(»vara,  who  hail  liij 
unnios  to  hattle,  hut  w  a>  now  a  pri\  ate 
soldier  of  Christ ;  Cornelius,  .Samuil, 
and  Sylvanus.  This  last,  when  the 
preat  Duchess  de  Medici  obtained  the 
pofie's  leave,  hitherto  nfuscd,  to  visit 
Camaldoli,  went  tlown  and  met  her  at 
the  first  wooden  cross,  anil  there,  sur- 
rouniletl  jus  she  wius  with  courtiers  and 
flatterers,  remonstrated  with  her  and 
jH-rsuiidcd  lier,  and  warncfl  her,  not  to 
jirofane  that  holy  mountain,  w  here  no 
woman  for  so  many  centuries  had 
placed  her  foot ;  and  she,  awed  hy  the 

1)lacc  and  the  man,  retreated  with  all 
icr  captains,  soldiers,  courtiers,  and 
paiies,  from  tluit  one  hoary  hermit. 
At  Basle  Clement  found  fnsh  mate- 
rials, especially  with  German  and 
Enfjlish  anchorites  ;  and  he  had  even 
prepared  a  "  Catena  Kremitamm  " 
from  the  year  of  our  Lord  2.50,  when 
Paul  of  Thebes  commenced  his  ninety 
years  of  solitude,  down  to  the  year 
1470.  He  called  them  Atufttonim 
amici  et  animaUuin,  i.  e., 

Friends  of  Angels  .\nd  Animals. 

Thus,  thou^rh  in  those  days  he  never 
thought  to   be  a  recluse,    the    road 


wivs  iMived,  K>  to  nfirak  :  and  wbfB 
the  ilNini;  hermit  of  (iouda  blnacd 
the  citadel  of  Solitude,  where  he 
had  fought  the  i;(.«m1  fi;:ht  und  won 
it,  and  in\ited  hiiu  to  lake  un  (he 
l>n-u.->tplati'  of  faith,  that  now  fell  off 
his  own  shrunken  ImkIv,  Clrnirnt 
saiil  within  himx-lf  :  "  Htnvon  ilaclf 
le«l  my  foot  hither  to  thi.»  end."  It 
struck  him.  lo<>,  a.*  no  wmnlt  roinci- 
denc«\  that  his  patron.  St.  Itavon, 
was  a  hermit,  and  nn  austere  one,  • 
cuira.H«iier  •  of  iho  solitary  cvW. 

Ah  Mwn  a«  he  wa«  rrconrilctl  to 
(jhyshnvht  Van  Swieten,  he  went 
eai^erly  to  his  new  bImmI*',  praving 
Heaven  it  mitrht  not  have  licen 
already  <>c-rupied  in  thc-e  tlin-o  day*. 
The  fear  W'as  not  vain  ;  tli<-M-  famous 
liens  never  wantr<l  a  htimun  tenant 
loni;.  He  found  the  rude  <«tonr  door 
ajar ;  then  ho  n«i««lc  sun-  ho  wa«  too 
late  ;  he  opene<l  the  door  and  went 
.softly  in.  No  ;  the  rt-ll  wa.s  vacant, 
and  tlure  were  the  hermit's  K^'»l 
ivory  crucifix,  his  jK-ns,  ink.  »«'«1«, 
and  memento  mori.  a  skull  ;  his  cilice 
of  hair,  and  anothrr  of  bristles  ;  his 
well-worn  shifpskin  jd-lisM"  and  liood, 
his  hammer,  clii>ol,  and  psaltenr,  &c. 
Men  and  women  ha<l  pas^t-d  thmt 
way,  but  none  had  ventunil  to  in- 
trude, far  less  to  steal.  Faith  and 
simplicity  had  pmnled  that  keylcM 
tlixtr  more  oecllr^•ly  than  the  houMrs  of 
the  laity  wen-  defendnl  bv  their  pitct 
like  a  mo<tem  jail,  am)  thick  iron 
bars  at  every  window,  and  the  pentry 
by  m(»at,  Imstion,  chevaux-de-friso, 
and  jiortcullis. 

As  soon  as  Clement  was  fairly  in 
the  cell  there  was  a  loud  flap,  and  a 
flutter,  and  down  came  a  pnat  brown 
owl  from  a  comer,  and  whirled  out 
of  the  window,  driving  the  air  cold 
on  Clement's  face.  He  started,  and 
shuddered. 

Was  this  scominp  owl  something 
dialjolical,  trying  to  deter  him  from 
his  soul's  pood  1  On  second  thouphu, 
mipht  it  not  be  .some  poo«l  spirit  the 
hermit  had  employed  to  k«-cp  the  cell 
for  him,  perhaps  the  hermit  himself  ' 

*  "  Loricatus,"  vide  Docange,  lo  roce 


THE   CLOISTER  AND   THE  HEARTH. 


395 


Finally  he  concluded  that  it  was  just 
an  owl  ;  and  that  he  would  try  and 
make  friends  with  it. 

He  kneeled  down  and  inaugurated 
his  new  life  with  prayer. 

Clement  had  not  only  an  earthly 
passion  to  quell,  the  power  of  which 
made  him  tremble  for  his  eternal 
weal,  but  he  had  a  penance  to  do  for 
having  given  way  to  ire,  his  beset- 
ting sin,  and  cursed  his  own  broth- 
ers. 

lie  looked  round  this  roomy  cell 
furnished  with  so  many  comforts,  and 
compared  it  with  the  pictures  in  his 
mind  of  the  hideous  place,  eremus  in 
ermo,  a  desert  in  a  desert,  where  holy 
Jerome,  hermit,  and  the  Plutarch  of 
hermits,  had  wrestled  with  sickness, 
temptation,  and  despair,  four  mortal 
years  ;  and  with  the  inaccessible  and 
thorny  niche,  a  hole  in  a  precipice, 
where  the  boy  hermit  Benedict  buried 
himself,  and  lived  three  years  on  the 
pittance  the  good  monk  iiomanus 
could  spare  him  from  liis  scanty  com- 
mons ;  and  subdivided  that  mouthful 
with  his  friend,  a  raven  ;  and  the  hol- 
low tree  of  his  patron  St.  Bavon,  and 
the  earthly  purgatory  at  Fribourg, 
where  lived  a  nameless  saint  in  a 
horrid  cavern,  his  eyes  chilled  with 
perpetual  gloom,  and  his  ears  stunned 
with  an  eternal  waterfall ;  and  the 
pillar  on  which  St.  Simeon  Stylita 
existed  forty-five  years,  and  the  des- 
tina,  or  stone  box,  of  St.  Dunstan, 
where,  like  Hilarion  in  his  bulrush 
hive,  sepulchro  potius  quam  domu,  he 
could  scarce  sit,  stand,  or  lie  ;  and  the 
living  tombs,  sealed  with  lead,  of  Thais 
and  Christina  and  other  recluses ; 
and  the  damp  dungeon  of  St.  Aired. 
These  and  scores  more  of  the  dismal 
dens  in  which  true  hermits  had  worn 
out  tlieir  wasted  bodies  on  the  rock, 
and  the  rock  under  their  sleeping 
bodies  and  their  praying  knee-;,  all 
came  into  his  mind,  and  he  said  to 
himself :  "  This  sweet  retreat  is  for 
safety  of  the  soul ;  but  what  for  pen- 
ance ?  Jesu  aid  me  against  faults  to 
come ;  and,  for  the  fault  I   rue,  face 


of  man  I  will  not  sec  for  a  twelve- 
month and  a  day."  lie  had  famous 
precedents  in  his  eyes  even  for  this 
last  and  unvisual  severity.  In  tact 
the  original  hermit  of  this  very  cell 
was  clearly  under  the  same  vow. 
Hence  the  two  apertures  through 
which  he  was  spoken  to  and  re- 
plied. 

Adopting,  in  other  respects,  the 
uniform  rule  of  hermits  and  ancho- 
rites, he  divided  his  day  into  the  seven 
offices,  ignoring  the  petty  accidents 
of  light  and  dark,  creations  both  of 
Him  to  whom  he  prayed  so  unceas- 
ingly. He  learned  the  psalter  by 
heart,  and  in  all  the  intervals  of  de- 
votion, not  occupied  by  broken  slum- 
bers, he  worked  hard  with  his  hands. 
No  article  of  the  hermit's  rule  was 
more  strict  or  more  ancient  than  this. 
And  here  his  self-imposed  penance 
embarrassed  him,  for  what  work 
could  he  do,  without  being  seen,  that 
should  benefit  his  neighbors.?  for  the 
hermit  was  to  labor  for  himsrlf  in 
those  cases  only  where  his  subsistence 
depended  on  it.  Now  Clement's 
modest  needs  were  amply  supplied  by 
the  villagers. 

On  moonlight  nights  he  would 
steal  out  like  a  thief,  and  dig  some 
poor  man's  garden  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  \'illage.  He  made  baskets 
and  dropped  them  slyly  at  humble 
doors. 

And,  since  he  could  do  nothing 
for  the  bodies  of  those  who  passed  by 
his  cell  in  daytime,  he  went  out  in  the 
dead  of  the  night  with  his  hammer 
and  his  chisel,  and  carved  moral  and 
religious  sentences  all  down  the  road 
upon  the  sandstone  rocks.  "  Who 
knows  1 "  said  he,  "  often  a  chance 
shaft  striketh  home.  O  sore  heart, 
comfort  thou  the  poor  and  bereaved 
with  holy  words  of  solace  in  their 
native  tongue  ;  for  Ik  said  well  :  '  'T  is 
clavis  ad  corda  plebis.'  "  Also  he 
remembered  the  learned  Colonna  had 
told  him  of  the  written  mountains  in 
the  East  where  kings  had  inscribed 
their  victories.  "  What,"  said  Clem- 
ent, "  are  they  so  wise,  these  Eastern 


396 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


monarchs,  to  cnpravc  their  warlike 
fi-lorv  iipon  the  niek,  in:ikin<;  a  hlood 
bubble  endure  so  lonj,'  as  earth  ;  anil 
shall  I  leave  the  reeks  about  me  si- 
lent on  the  Kinj;  of  plory,  at  whoso 
w(jnl  they  were,  and  at  wliose  breath 
they  sliail  be  dust  ?  Nay,  but  these 
stones  shall  speak  to  weary  wayfarers 
of  eternal  peace,  and  of  the  Lamb 
whose  frail  and  attiieted,  yet  ha|>py 
servant  worketh  them  anion},'." 

Now  at  this  time  the  insi)ired  words 
that  have  eonsoled  the  jjoor  and  the 
atHieted  for  so  many  ajjes  were  not 
yet  printed  in  Duteli,  so  that  these 
sentences  of  i:oU\  from  the  holy 
Evan<,'iiists  came  like  fresli  oraeles 
from  lieaven,  or  like  the  dew  on 
pareheil  (lowers  ;  and  the  ]k>ot  hennii's 
written  rocks  softened  a  heart  or  two, 
and  sent  the  heavy  laden  singing'  on 
their  way.* 

These  holy  oraeles  that  seemed  to 
sprini;  up  around  him  like  mapie,  his 
prudent  answers  throu;:li  his  window 
to  such  as  sought  ghostly  counsel, 
and,  above  all,  his  invisibility,  soon 
gained  him  a  ])rodipious  reputation. 
This  was  not  diminished  by  the  medi- 
cal advice  they  now  and  then  exiorled 
from  him,  sore  against  his  will,  by 
tears  ami  entreaties ;  for,  if  the  patients 
pot  well,  they  pave  the  holy  hermit 
the  credit,  and  if  not  they  laid  all  the 
blame  on  the  Devil.  I  think  he  killed 
nobody,  for  his  remedies  were  "  wo- 
manish and  weak."  Sape,  and  worm- 
wood, sion,  hyssop,  borape,  spikenard, 
dop's-tonpue,  our  Lady's  mantle, 
feverfew,  and  faith,  and  all  in  small 
quantities  except  the  last. 

Then  his  abstinence,  sure  sipn  of  a 
saint.  The  epps  and  milk  thev 
broupht  him  at  first  he  refused  with 
horror.  Know  ye  not  the  hermit's 
rule  is  bread,  or  herbs,  and  water  ? 
Epps,  they  are  birds  in  dispuise ;  for 
when  the  bird  dicth  then  the  epp 
rotteth.     As  for  milk,  it  is  little  better 

'  It  requires  nowadays  a  strong  effort  of 
the  imagination  to  realize  the  effect  on  poor 
people  who  had  never  seen  them  before  of 
Buch  sentences  as  this, "  Blessed  are  the  poor," 


than  white  blrKxl.  And  when  tlicy 
bruupht  him  t<H)  much  bread  he  re- 
fund it.  Then  they  used  to  press  it 
on  him.  "  Nay,  holy  father  ;  give 
the  overplus  to  the  |HM)r." 

"  You  who  po  amonp  the  |K)or  can 
do  that  U-tter.  Ls  bread  a  thinp  to 
tlinp  haphazard  from  an  hermit's  win- 
dow '.  "  And  to  those  who  |HTsihted 
after  this:  " 'i"o  live  on  charity,  yet 
play  Sir  Hountitul,  is  to  lie  with  tlio 
ripht  hand,  (iivinp  another's  to  the 
jKKjr,  I  shoulil  bepuile  them  of  tlieir 
thanks,  and  cluat  thee  the  true  piver. 
Thus  do  thieves,  whose  boast  it  il 
they  bleed  the  rich  into  tin'  lap  of  the 
fMjor.  Occa-sio  avaritia-  nomen  juiu- 
perum." 

When  nothinp  else  would  convince 
the  p(M»d  souls,  this  piece  of  Latin 
always  broupht  them  round.  So 
would  a  line  of  Virpil's  yKneid. 

'Jhis  preat  reputation  of  sanctity 
was  all  external.  Inside  the  cell  was 
a  nuin  who  held  the  hermit  of  Gutida 
ns  cheap  as  dirt. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  he.  "  I  cannot  <leccive 
myself;  I  cannot  deceive  (iod'.s  ani- 
mals. See  the  little  birds,  how  coy 
they  1h' !  I  feeil  and  fec<l  them  and 
lonp  for  their  friend>hip,  yet  will  they 
never  come  within,  nor  take  my  hand 
by  liphtinp  on  't.  For  why  '  No 
Paul,  no  Henediet,  no  Ilnph  of  Lin- 
coln, no  Coluniba,  no  (iuthlae,  bides 
iti  this  cell.  Hunted  doe  fiieth  not 
hither,  for  here  is  no  Fruetuosus, 
nor  Aventinc,  nor  AllK-rt  of  Suabia  : 
nor  e'en  a  pretty  s(|uirrel  cometh 
from  the  wood  hard  by  for  the  acorns 
I  have  hoarded  ;  for  here  abideth  no 
Columbian.  The  very  owl  that  was 
here  hath  fled.  They  are  not  to  be 
deceived  ;  I  have  a  I'ojjc's  word  for 
that :  Heaven  rest  his  soul." 

Clement  had  one  advantape  over 
her  whose  imnpc  in  his  heart  he  was 
bent  on  destroying. 

He  had  sufll-red  and  survived  the 
panp  of  bereavement ;  and  the  mind 
cannot  quite  rejK'at  such  anptiish. 
Then  he  had  built  nj)  a  habit  of  look- 
ing on  her  as  dead.  After  that  stranpe 
scene  in  the  church  and  churchyard 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


397 


of  St.  Laurens,  that  habit  might  be 
compared  to  a  structure  riven  by  a 
thunderbolt.  It  was  shattered,  but 
stones  enough  stood  to  found  a  simi- 
lar habit  on,  —  to  look  on  her  as  dead 
to  him. 

And  by  severe  subdivision  of  his 
time  and  thoughts,  by  unceasing 
prayers,  and  manual  labor,  he  did,  in 
about  three  months,  succeed  in  be- 
numbing the  earthly  half  of  his 
heart. 

But,  lo  !  within  a  day  or  two  of 
this  first  symptom  of  mental  peace 
returning  slowly,  there  descended  up- 
on his  mind  a  horrible  despondency. 

AVords  cannot  utter  it;  for  words 
never  yet  painted  a  likeness  of  despair. 
Voices  seemed  to  whisper  in  his  ear, 
"  Kill  thyself,  kill  !  kill  !  kill  !  " 
And  he  longed  to  obey  the  voices  ; 
for  life  was  intolerable.  He  wrestled 
with  his  dark  enemy  with  prayers  and 
tears  ;  he  prayed  God  but  to  vary  his 
temptation.  "  O,  let  mine  enemy  have 
power  to  scourge  me  with  red-hot 
whips,  to  tear  me  leagues  and  leagues 
over  rugged  places  by  the  hair  of  my 
head,  as  he  has  served  many  a  holy 
hermit,  that  yet  baffled  him  at  last; 
to  fly  on  me  like  a  raging  lion  ;  to 
gnaw  me  with  a  serpent's  fangs  :  any 
pain,  any  terror,  but  this  horrible 
gloom  of  the  soul  that  shuts  me  from 
all  light  of  Thee  and  of  the  saints." 

And  now  a  freezing  thought  crossed 
him.  What  if  the  triumphs  of  the 
powers  of  darkness  over  Christian 
souls  in  desert  places  had  been  sup- 
pressed ;  and  only  their  defeats  re- 
corded, or  at  least  in  full :  for  dark 
hints  were  scattered  about  antiquity 
that  now  first  began  to  grin  at  him 
with  terrible  meaning. 

"  They  ■wandered  in  the  desert 

AND    PERISHED  BY    SERPENTS,"    Said 

an  ancient  father,  of  hermits  that 
went  into  solitude,  "  and  were  seen  no 
more."  And  another  at  a  more  recent 
epoch  wrote  :  "  Vertuntur  ad  melan- 
choliam  ";  "  they  turn  to  gloomy  mad- 
ness." These  two  statements,  were 
they  not  one  ?  for  the  ancient  fathers 
never  spoke  with  regret  of  the  death 


of  the  body.  No,  the  hermits  so  lost 
were  perished  souls,  and  the  serpents 
were  diabolical  *  thoughts,  the  natural 
brood  of  solitude. 

St.  Jerome  went  into  the  desert 
with  three  companions  ;  one  fled  in  the 
first  year ;  two  died  :  how  ?  The  sin- 
gle one  that  lasted  was  a  gigantic 
soul  with  an  iron  body. 

The  contemporary  who  related  this 
made  no  comment,  expressed  no 
wonder.  What  then  if  here  was  a 
glimpse  of  the  true  proportion  in 
every  age,  and  many  souls  had  always 
been  lost  in  solitude  for  one  gigantic 
mind  and  iron  body  that  survived  this 
terrible  ordeal  ? 

The  darkened  recluse  now  cast  his 
despairing  eyes  over  antiquity  to  see 
what  weapons  the  Christian  arsenal 
contained,  that  might  befriend  him. 
The  greatest  of  all  was  prayer.  Alas ! 
it  was  a  part  of  his  malady  to  be  un- 
able to  pray  with  true  fervor.  The 
very  system  of  mechanical  supplica- 
tion he  had  for  months  carried  out  so 
severely  by  rule  had  rather  checked 
than  fostered  liis  power  of  originating 
true  prayer. 

He  prayed  louder  than  ever,  but 
the  heart  hung  back  cold  and  gloomy, 
and  let  the  words  go  up  alone. 

"  Poor  wingless  prayers,"  he  cried ; 
"you  will  not  get  half-way  to  Heaven." 

A  fiend  of  this  complexion  had  been 
driven  out  of  King  Saul  by  music. 

Clement  took  up  the  hermit's  psal- 
tery, and  with  much  trouble  mended 
the  strings  and  tuned  it. 

No,  he  could  not  play  it.  His  soul 
was  so  out  of  tune.  The  sounds 
jarred  on  it,  and  made  him  almost  mad. 

"  Ah,  wretched  me  !  "  he  cried. 
"  Saul  had  a  saint  to  play  to  him. 
He  was  not  alone  with  the  spirits  of 
darkness  ;  but  here  is  no  sweet  bard 
of  Israel  to  play  to  me  ;  I,  lonely, 
with  crushed  heart,  on  which  a  black 
fiend   sitteth    mountain   high,    must 

*  The  primitive  writer  was  so  interpreted 
by  others  besides  Clement  ;  and,  in  particu- 
lar, by  Peter  of  Blois,  a  divine  of  the  twelfth 
century,  whose  comment  is  noteworthy,  as  he 
himself  was  a  forty-year  hermit. 


398 


THK   CLOISTKK   AND   TlIK   IIKAHTIL 


make  the  music  to  uplift  that  heart 
to  heaven  ;  it  may  not  he."  Ami  he 
grovelled  on  the  earth,  weeping  and 
tearing  his  hair. 

Vertebutur  ad  melnncholiam. 


CIIArTER    xciir. 

One  day  as  he  lay  there,  sighing 
and  groaning,  praycrless,  tuneless, 
hopeless,  a  thought  Hashed  into  his 
mind.  What  he  had  done  for  the 
poor  and  the  wayfarer,  he  would  do 
for  himself.  He  would  fill  his  den  of 
despair  with  the  name  of  (iod  and 
the  nuigie  words  of  Holy  Writ  and 
the  pious,  prayerful  consolations  of 
the  Church. 

Then,  like  Christian  at  Apollyon's 
feet,  he  reached  his  hand  suddenly 
out  and  cauglit,  not  his  sword,  for  he 
had  none,  iiut  peaceful  lahor's  hiimliler 
weapon,  his  chisel,  and  worked  with 
it  as  if  his  soul  depended  on  his  arm. 

They  say  that  Michael  Angelo  in 
the  next  generation  used  to  cane 
statues,  not  like  our  timid  sculptors, 
by  modelling  the  work  in  clay,  and 
then  setting  a  mechanic  to  ehi.sel  it ; 
but  would  seize  the  block,  conceive 
the  image,  antl  at  once  with  mallet 
a!ul  steel  make  the  marble  chips  fly 
like  mad  about  him,  and  the  ma.ss 
sprout  into  form.  Even  so  Clement 
drew  no  lines  to  guide  his  hand.  He 
went  to  his  memory  for  the  grm-ious 
words,  and  then  dashed  at  his  work, 
and  eagerly  graved  them  in  the  soft 
stone,  between  working  and  fighting. 

He  begged  his  visitors  for  candle 
ends  and  rancid  oil. 

"  Anything  is  good  enough  for 
me,"  he  said,  "  if  't  will  but  bum." 
So  at  night  the  cave  glowed  afar  off 
like  a  blacksmith's  forge  through  the 
window  and  the  gaping  chinks  of  the 
rude  stone  door,  and  the  rustics  be- 
holding crossed  themselves  and  sus- 
pected deviltries,  and  within,  the  holy 
talismans  one  after  another  c.ime  up- 
on the  walls,  and  the  sparks  and  the 
chips  flew  day  and  night,  night  and 


d.iy,  as  the  soldier  of  Solitude  and  of 
the  Church  jilied,  with  si;:hs  and 
groans,  his  bliH^dlcss  weapon  between 
working  and  lighting. 

Kyric  Elrnson. 
Christe  Elfeison. 

Tov  laiavav  (rwrpiiltoy  uiro  TOvt  iroiat  qfitv.* 
Sursnm  rorda.  t 

Deits  rrfwjium  nnstmm  et  viiiiut.  \ 
Aipiits  I)ii,  ifui  tUlis  i)rr)tUa  mundi, 

miserere  mihi.  § 

Snnrta  Trinitas  uniis  iMis  miserm 
nobis.  II 

Ah  tn/istiili<milnis  J^rvioiium^  a  ren- 
titra  irti,  u  dumitnlioiu-  jHrjMlnii,^ 

JJIxrii  nus  iJvmine. 

Deits,  ipii  miro  ardine  Anifilimim  min- 
isteria,  itc.     (The  whole  collect.)  ♦• 

Qiirm  (/nirrimits  ad/utorem  nisi  te 
Dumme,  i/iti  jirv  jHntitis  nosiria  juate 
irnsittris  /  ft 

Sanrtr  iMts,  Sanrte  foriis,  Sunrte  et 
miserirors  .SVi/f«j/or,  amurie  morti  ne 
tradiis  nos. 

And  iindcrmnth  the  greiit  <Tucifix, 
which  was  fi.stcia'd  to  the  wall,  ho 
graved  this  from  Augustine  :  — 

0  (iiiima  Christiana,  nspire  rvdnera 
jHiliiiitis,  sariffuinrm  niorlmtis,  prftium 
ri-thmjttiouis.  —  /fur  t/wnita  sint  ciit/i- 
tdtr,  (t  lu  sliilira  inrnilis  vtstnr  ainien- 
dite,  ul  liittis  riJiis  fif/atur  in  corde,  qui 
pro  volii.i  Miisjixiis  rst  in  mice.  Nam, 
si  iMissio  C  'liristi  iid  mi  vioi  ' 
nihil  ist  tarn  durum  quod 
imo  tulirdur. 

•  Beat  down  Satan  under  our  fecL 

t  I'p,  n..arts  ! 

+  O  Ool,  our  refupp  and  strcnpth. 

§0  Lamb  of  Clixl,  that  taki-st  away  the 
sins  of  the  world,  have  mercy  upon  me  ! 

II  O  Uoly  Trinity,  one  Ood,  have  mercy  up 
on  U9. 

IT  From  the  assaults   of  demons,  from   the 
wrath  to  come,  from  everla.atinjr  damnation, 
I>eliver  us,  O  Lord  '. 

**  See  the  English  collect,  St.  Michael  and 
all  Anpels. 

ft  Of  whiim  raay  we  seek  succor,  but  ot 
thi-o,  O  Lord,  who  fur  our  sins  art  just'y  di-!- 
pleased  (and  that  torrent  of  prayer,  the  fob 
lowing  verae). 


non  a  quo  an- 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


399 


Which  may  be  thus  rendered  :  — 

0  Christian  soul,  look  on  the  ivounds 
of  the  sujfering  0?ie,  the  blood  of  the  dy- 
ing One,  the  price  paid  for  our  redemp- 
tion :  These  things,  oh  think  how  great 
they  be,  and  iveigh  them  in  the  balance  of 
thy  mind:  that  He  mau  be  wholly  nailed 
to  thy  heart,  who  for  thee  was  all  nailed 
unto  the  cross.  For  do  but  call  to  mind 
the  sufferings  of  Christ,  and  there  is 
naught  on  earth  too  hard  to  endure  with 
composure. 

Soothed  a  little,  a  very  little,  by 
the  sweet  and  pious  words  he  was 
raising  all  round  him,  and  weighed 
down  with  Avatching  and  working 
night  and  day,  Clement  one  morning 
sank  prostrate  with  fatigue ;  and  a 
deep  sleep  overpowered  him  for  many 
hours. 

Awaking  quietly,  he  heard  a  little 
cheep ;  he  opened  his  eyes,  and,  lo  ! 
upon  his  breviary,  which  was  on  a 
low  stool  near  his  feet,  ruffling 
all  his  feathers  with  a  single  pull, 
and  smoothing  them  as  sudden- 
ly, and  cocking  his  bill  this  way 
and  tljat  with  a  vast  display  of  cun- 
ning purely  imaginary,  perched  a 
robin-redbreast. 

Clement  held  his  breath. 

He  half  closed  his  eyes  lest  they 
should  frighten  the  airy  guest. 

Down  came  robin  on  the  floor. 

When  there  he  went  through  his 
pantomime  of  astuteness  ;  and  then, 

Eim,  pim,  pim,  with  three  stiff  little 
ops,  like  a  ball  of  worsted  on  verti- 
cal wires,  he  was  on  the  hermit's  bare 
foot.  On  this  eminence  he  swelled, 
and  contracted  again,  with  el)b  and 
flow  of  feathers  ;  but  Clement  lost 
this,  for  he  quite  closed  his  eyes  and 
scarce  drew  his  breath  in  fear  of 
frightening  and  losing  his  visitor. 
He  was  content  to  feel  the  minute 
claw  on  his  foot.  He  could  but  just 
feel  it,  and  that  by  help  of  knowing 
it  was  there. 

Presently  a  little  flirt  with  two  lit- 
tle  wings,   and   the   feathered   busy- 
body was  on  the  breviary  again. 
Then  Clement  determined  to  try 


and  feed  this  pretty  little  fidget  with- 
out frightening  it  away.  But  it  was 
very  difficult.  He  had  a  piece  of 
bread  within  reach,  but  how  get  at 
it  ?  I  think  he  was  five  minutes 
creeping  his  hand  up  to  that  bread, 
and  when  there  he  must  not  move 
his  arm. 

He  slyly  got  a  crumb  between  a 
finger  and  thumb,  and  shot  it  as  boys 
do  marbles,  keeping  the  hand  quite 
still. 

Cockrobin  saw  it  fall  near  him,  and 
did  sagacity,  but  moved  not. 

When  another  followed,  and  then 
another,  he  popped  down  and  caught 
up  one  of  the  crumbs,  but,  not  quite 
understanding  this  mystery,  fled  with 
it,  for  more  security,  to  an  eminence ; 
to  wit,  the  hennit's  knee. 

And  so  the  game  proceeded  till  a 
much  larger  fragment  than  usual 
rolled  along. 

Here  was  a  prize.  Cockrobin 
pounced  on  it,  bore  it  aloft,  and  fled 
so  swiftly  into  the  world  with  it,  the 
cave  resounded  with  the  buffeted  air. 

"  Now,  bless  thee,  sweet  bird," 
sighed  the  stricken  solitary  ;  "  thy 
wings  are  music,  and  thou  a  feathered 
ray  camcdst  to  light  my  darkened 
soul." 

And  from  that  to  his  orisons,  and 
then  to  his  tools  with  a  little  bit  of 
courage ;  and  this  was  his  day's 
work :  — 

Veni  Creator  Spiritus 
Mentes  tuorum  visita 
Imple  supenm  gratia 
Quce  tu  creasti  pectora 

Accende  lumen  seiisibus 
Mentes  tuorum  visita 
Infrma  nostri  corporis 
Virtute  firmans  perpetim. 

And  so  the  days  rolled  on  ;  and 
the  weather  got  colder,  and  Clement's 
heart  got  warmer,  and  despondency 
was  rolling  away  ;  and  by  and  by, 
somehow  or  another,  it  was  gone. 
He  had  outlived  it. 

It  had  come  like  a  cloud,  and  it 
went  like  one. 


400 


THE   CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


And  presently  all  was  reversed ; 
his  cell  seemed  ilhiiiiinatcd  with  joy. 
His  work  pleased  him  ;  his  prayers 
were  full  of  unction,  his  psalms  of 
praise.  Hosts  of  little  birds  followed 
their  crimson  leader,  and  Hyin<:  from 
snow,  and  a  parish  full  of  Cains, 
made  friends  one  after  another  with 
Abel,  fast  friends.  And  one  keen 
frosty  night  as  he  sanjr  the  praises  of 
God  to  liis  tuneful  psaltery,  and  his 
hollow  cave  ranp  forth  the  holy 
psalmody  upon  the  nifcht,  as  if  that 
cave  itself  was  Tubal's  sounding 
shell,  or  David's  harj),  he  heard  a 
clear  whine,  not  unmclodious  ;  it  be- 
came louder  and  less  in  tune.  He 
])eei)ed  through  the  chinks  of  his  rude 
door,  and  there  sat  a  great  red  wolf 
moaning  melodiously  with  his  nose 
high  in  the  air. 

Clement  was  rejoiced.  "My  sins 
arc  going,"  he  cried,  "  and  the  crea- 
tures of  God  are  owning  me  one  after 
another."  And  in  a  burst  of  enthu- 
siasm he  struck  up  the  laud  :  — "  I'raise 
Him  all  ye  creatures  of  His  ! 

"  Let  everything  that  hath  breath 
praise  the  Lord." 

And,  all  the  time  he  sang,  the  wolf 
bayed  at  iuter\als. 

But  above  all  he  seemed  now  to  be 
drawing  nearer  to  that  celestial  inter- 
course which  was  the  sign  and  the 
bliss  of  the  true  hermit ;  for  he  had 
dreams  about  the  saints  and  angels, 
so  vivid,  they  were  more  like  visions. 
He  saw  bright  figures  clad  in  woven 
snow.  They  bent  on  him  eyes  love- 
lier than  those  of  the  antelopes  he 
had  seen  at  Konio,  and  fanned  him 
with  broad  wings  lined  like  the  rain- 
bow, and  their  gentle  voices  bade 
him  speed  upon  his  course. 

He  had  not  long  enjoyed  this  fe- 
licity, when  his  dreams  began  to  take 
another  and  a  strange  com])h'xion. 
He  wandered  with  Fra  Colonna  over 
the  relics  of  antir|ue  nations,  and  the 
friar  was  lame  and  had  a  staff,  and  this  j 
staff  he  waved  over  the  mighty  ruins, 
and,  were  they  Egyptian,  Greek,  or 
Eoman,  straightway  the  temples  and 


palaces  whose  wrecks  they  were  rose 
again  like  an  exhalation,  and  were 
thronged  with  the  famous  dead. 
Songsters  that  might  have  cclip.sed 
both  Ap«jllo  and  his  rival  poured 
forth  their  lays  ;  women,  godlike  in 
form,  and  drajjcd  like  Minena,  SMram 
round  the  marble  courts  in  volup- 
tuous but  easy  and  graceful  dances. 
Her  sculptors  carved  away  amidst 
admiring  j)Upils,  and  forms  of  super- 
natural beauty  grew  out  of  Parian 
marble  in  a  fpiarter  of  an  hour;  and 
grave  jihilosojihers  convcrse<l  on  high 
and  subtle  matters,  with  youth  listen- 
ing reverently  ;  it  wa.s  a  long  time 
ago.  And  still  beneath  all  this  won- 
derful panorama  a  sort  of  suspicion 
or  expectation  lurked  in  the  dream- 
er's mind.  "  This  is  a  prologue,  a 
flourish,  there  is  something  beliind ; 
something  that  means  me  no  good, 
something  mysterious,  awful." 

And  one  night  that  the  wizard  Co- 
lonna had  tran.scended  himself,  he 
jKiinted  with  his  stick,  and  there  waa 
a  swallowing  up  of  many  great  ancient 
cities,  and  the  pair  stood  on  a  vast 
sandy  ]ilain  with  a  huge  crimson  sun 
sinking  to  rest.  There  were  great 
palm-trees ;  and  there  were  bulrush 
liives,  scare  u  man's  height,  dotted  all 
about  to  the  sandy  horizon  and  the 
crimson  sun. 

"  These  are  the  anchorites  of  the 
Theban  desert,"  said  Colonna, 
calmly  ;  "  followers  not  of  Christ  and 
his  apostles  and  the  great  fathers,  but 
of  the  Greek  pupils  of  the  Egyptian 
pupils  of  the  Brachmans  and  Gym- 
nosophists." 

And  Clement  thought  that  he 
burned  to  go  and  embrace  the  holy 
men  and  tell  them  his  troubles,  and 
seek  their  advice.  But  he  was  tied 
by  the  feet  somehow,  and  could  not 
move,  and  the  crimson  sun  sunk ; 
and  it  got  dusk,  and  the  hives  scarce 
visible.  And  Colonna's  figure  be- 
came shadowy  and  shaftelcss,  but  his 
eyes  glowed  ten  times  brighter  ;  and 
this  thing  all  eyes  spoke  and  said : 
"  Nay,  let  them  be,  a  pack  of  fools .' 
sec  how  dismal  it  all  is."     Then  with 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


401 


a  sudden  sprightliness  :  "  But  I  hear  I 
one  of  them  has  a  manuscript  of  Pe- ' 
tronius,  on  papyrus ;  I  go  to  buy  it,  j 
farewell  forever,  forever,  forever."        | 

And  it  was  pitch-dark,  and  a  light  '. 
came  at  Clement's  back  like  a  gentle 
stroke ;  a  glorious  roseate  light. 
It  warmed  as  well  as  brightened.  It 
loosened  his  feet  from  the  ground  ; 
he  turned  round,  and  there,  her  face 
irradiated  Avith  sunshine,  and  her 
hair  glittering  like  the  gloriola  of  a 
saint,  was  Margaret  Brandt. 

She  blushed  and  smiled  and  cast  a 
look  of  ineffable  tenderness  on  him. 
"  Gerard,"  she  murmured,  "  be  whose 
thou  wilt  by  day,  but  at  night  be 
mine ! " 

Even  as  she  spoke,  the  agitation  of 
seeing  her  so  suddenly  awakened  him, 
and  he  found  himself  lying  trembling 
from  head  to  foot. 

That  radiant  figure,  and  a  mellow 
voice,  seemed  to  have  struck  his 
nightly  keynote. 

Awake  he  could  pray,  and  praise, 
and  worship  God ;  he  was  master  of 
his  thoughts.  But  if  he  closed  his 
eyes  in  sleep,  Margaret,  or  Satan  in 
her  shape,  beset  him,  a  seeming 
angel  of  light.  He  might  dream  of 
a  thousand  different  things,  wide  as 
the  poles  asunder ;  ere  he  woke,  the 
imperial  figure  was  sure  to  come  and 
extinguish  all  the  rest  in  a  moment, 
Stellas  exortus  uti  setherius  sol :  for 
she  came  glowing  with  two  beauties 
never  before  united,  in  angel's  radi- 
ance and  woman's  blushes. 

Angels  cannot  blush,  so  he  knew  it 
was  a  fiend. 

He  was  alarmed,  but  not  so  much 
surprised  as  at  the  demon's  last  arti- 
fice. From  Anthony  to  Nicholas  of 
the  Rock  scarce  a  hermit  that  had 
not  been  thus  beset ;  sometimes  ^\-ith 
gay  voluptuous  visions,  sometimes 
with  lovely  phantoms,  warm,  tangi- 
ble, and  womanly  without,  demons 
within,  nor  always  baffled  even  by  the 
saints.  Witness  that  "  angel  form 
with  a  devil's  heart,"  that  came  ' 
hanging  its  lovely  head,  like  a ! 
bruised  flower,  to  St.  Macarius,  with  ] 


a  feigned  tale ;  and  wept,  and  wept, 
and  wept,  and  beguiled  him  first  of 
his  tears  and  then  of  half  his  virtue. 

But  with  the  examples  of  Satanic 
power  and  craft  had  come  down  co- 
pious records  of  the  hennits'  tri- 
umphs, and  the  weapons  by  which 
they  had  conquered. 

Domandmn  est  coi'pus;  the  body 
must  be  tamed ;  this  had  been  their 
watchword  for  twelve  hundred  years. 
It  was  a  tremendous  war-cn,-;  for 
they  called  the  earthly  affections,  as 
well  as  appetites,  body  ;  and  crushed 
the  whole  heart  through  the  suffering 
and  mortified  fiesh. 

Clement  then  said  to  himself  that 
the  great  enemy  of  man  had  retired 
but  to  spring  with  more  efiect,  and 
had  allowed  him  a  few  days  of  true 
purity  and  joy  only  to  put  him  ofi'his 
guard  against  the  soft  blandishments 
he  was  pouring  over  the  soul,  that 
had  survived  the  buffeting  of  his 
black  wings.  He  applied  himself  to 
tame  the  body ;  he  shortened  his 
sleep,  lengthened  his  prayers,  and  in- 
creased his  severe  temperance  to  ab- 
stinence. Hitherto,  following  the 
ordinary  rule,  he  had  eaten  only  at 
sunset.  Now  he  ate  but  once  in 
forty-eight  hours,  drinking  a  Uttle  wa- 
ter every  day. 

On  this  the  visions  became  more 
distinct. 

Then  he  flew  to  a  famous  antidote, 
to  "  the  grand  febrifuge  "  of  ancho- 
rites, —  cold  water. 

He  found  the  deepest  part  of  the 
stream  that  ran  by  his  cell ;  it  rose 
not  far  off  at  a  holy  well ;  and,  clear- 
ing the  bottom  of  the  large  stones, 
made  a  hole  where  he  could  stand  in 
water  to  the  chin,  and,  fortified  by  so 
many  examples,  he  sprang  from  his 
rude  bed  upon  the  next  diabolical  as- 
sault, and  entered  the  icy  water. 

It  made  him  gasp  and  almost 
shriek  with  the  cold.  It  froze  his 
man-ow.  "  I  shall  die,"  he  cried.  "  I 
shall  die ;  but  better  this  than  fire 
eternal." 

And  the  next  day  he  was  so  stiff  in 
all  his  joints  he  could  not  move,  and 


402 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THK   HEARTH. 


he  seemed  one  great  ache.  And  even 
in  sleep  lie  tblt  that  his  very  hones 
were  like  so  many  ra^'inf;  teeth,  till 
the  phantom  he  drcaileil  came  and 
f^ave  one  ])itying  smile,  and  all  the 
pain  was  gone. 

Then,  feeling  that  to  go  into  the 
icy  water  again,  enf'eehled  by  fasts  as 
he  was,  might  perhaps  carry  the  guilt 
of  suicide,  he  scourged  himself  till  the 
hlood  ran,  and  so  lay  down  smarting. 

And  when  exhaustion  began  to 
blunt  the  smart  down  to  a  throb, 
that  moment  the  present  wa.s  away, 
and  the  ])ast  came  smiling  hack,  lie 
sat  with  Margaret  at  the  Duke's  feast, 
the  minstrels  f)layed  divinely,  and 
the  ])ur])le  fountains  gushed.  Youth 
and  love  reigned  in  each  heart,  and 
perfumed  the  very  air. 

Then  the  scene  shifted,  and  tliey 
stood  at  the  altar  together  man  and 
wife.  And  no  interruption  this  time, 
and  they  wandered  hand  in  hand,  and 
told  each  other  their  horrible  dreams. 
As  for  him  "  he  had  dreamed  she  was 
dead,  and  he  was  a  monk ;  and 
really  the  dream  had  been  .so  vivid 
and  so  full  of  particulars  that  only 
his  eyesight  could  even  now  convince 
him  it  was  only  a  dream,  and  tliey 
were  really  one." 

Ami,  this  new  keynote  once  struck, 
every  tune  ran  upon  it.  Awake 
he  was  Clement,  the  hermit,  risen 
from  unearthly  visions  of  the  night, 
as  dangerous  as  they  were  sweet  ; 
asleep  he  was  Cicrard  Eliassoen,  the 
happy  husband  of  the  loveliest,  and 
best,  and  truest  girl  in  Holland  :  all 
the  luippier  that  he  had  been  for 
some  time  the  sport  of  hideous 
dreams,  in  which  he  had  lost  her. 

His  constant  fasts,  coupled  with 
other  austerities  and  the  deep  mental 
anxiety  of  a  man  fighting  with  a  su- 
pernatural foe,  had  now  reduced  him 
nearly  to  a  skeleton ;  but  still  on 
those  aching  bones  hung  flesh  un- 
subdued, and  quivering  with  an 
earthly  passion ;  so,  however,  he 
thought  ;  "  or  why  had  ill  spirits 
Bueh  a  power  over  him  ?  "  His  opin- 
ion was  confirmed,  when  one  day  he 


delected  liimself  sinking  to  slwp  ac^ 
ually  with  a  feeling  of  coui]>lacency, 
because  now  .Margaret  would  como 
and  he  should  t'eel  no  more  pojn,  and 
the  unreal  would  Ik-  real,  and  the 
real  unreal  for  an  liour. 

On  this  he  rose  hastily  with  a  cry 
of  dismay,  aiul  stri[)ping  to  the  skin 
climln'd  \i\>  to  the  brambles  al)Ovc  his 
cave,  anil  flung  liim>elfon  them,  and 
rolleil  on  them  writhing  with  the 
|)ain  :  then  he  came  into  his  den  a 
mass  of  gore,  and  lay  nuianing  for 
hours  ;  till,  out  of  shi-er  exhaustion, 
he  fell  into  a  deep  and  dreamless 
sleep. 

lie  awoke  to  bodily  jiain,  and  men- 
tal exultation  ;  he  had  broken  the 
fatal  spell.  Yes,  it  was  broken : 
another  and  another  day  passeil,  and 
her  inuige  molested  him  no  more. 
Hut  he  caught  himself  sighing  at  his 
victory. 

The  birds  got  tamer  and  tamer,  they 
jK'rched  u])on  his  band.  Two  of  them 
let  him  gild  their  little  claws.  Eating 
but  once  in  two  days,  he  had  more  to 
give  them. 

His  tranquillity  wa.s  not  to  last  long. 

A  wonum's  voice  came  in  from  tlie 
outside,  told  him  his  own  story  in  a 
very  few  words,  and  asked  him  to  tell 
her  where  Gerard  was  to  bo  found. 

He  was  so  astounded  he  could  only 
sav,  with  ar^  instinct  of  sclf-<lefence, 
"  i'ray  for  the  soul  of  (uranl,  the  son 
of  Eli !  "  meaning  that  he  was  dead 
to  the  world.     And  he  sat  wondering. 

When  the  wonum  was  gone,  he  de- 
termined, after  an  inward  battle,  to 
risk  being  seen,  and  he  peeped  after 
her  to  see  who  it  could  he :  but  he 
took  so  many  precautions,  and  sho 
ran  so  quickly  back  to  her  friend,  that 
the  road  was  clear. 

"  Satan  !  "  said  he,  directly. 

And  that  night  back  came  his  vis- 
ions of  earthly  love  and  hajipiness  so 
vividly,  he  could  count  every  auburn 
hair  in  Margaret's  head,  and  sec  the 
pupils  of  her  eyes. 

Then  he  began  to  despair,  and  said  : 
"  I  must  leave  this  country  ;  here  I 
am  bound  fast  in  memory's  chain"; 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


403 


and  began  to  dread  his  cell.  He  said : 
"  A  breath  from  hell  hath  infected  it, 
and  robbed  even  these  holy  words  of 
their  virtue."  And  unconsciously 
imitating  St.  Jerome,  a  victim  of 
earthly  hallucinations,  as  overpower- 
ing, and  coarser,  he  took  his  warmest 
covering  out  into  the  wood  hard  by, 
and  there  ilung  down  under  a  tree 
that  torn  and  wrinkled  leather  bag  of 
bones  which  a  little  ago  might  have 
served  a  sculptor  for  Apollo. 

Whether  the  fever  of  his  imagina- 
tion intermitted,  as  a  master  mind  of 
our  day  has  shown  that  all  things  in- 
termit,* or  that  this  really  broke  some 
subtle  link,  I  know  not,  but  his  sleep 
was  dreamless. 

He  awoke  nearly  frozen,  but  warm 
with  joy  within. 

"  I  shall  yet  be  a  true  hermit,  Dei 
gratia,"  said  he. 

The  next  day  some  good  soul  left 
on  his  little  platform  a  new  lamb's- 
wool  pelisse  and  cape,  warm,  soft,  and 
ample. 

He  had  a  moment's  misgiving  on 
account  of  its  delicious  softness  and 
warmth  :  but  that  passed.  It  was  the 
right  skin,t  and  a  mark  that  Heaven 
approved  his  present  course. 

It  restored  warmth  to  his  bones  af- 
ter he  came  in  from  his  short  rest. 

And  now,  at  one  moment,  he  saw 
victory  before  him  if  he  could  but  live 
to  it ;  at  another,  he  said  to  himself, 
"  'T  is  but  another  lull ;  be  on  thy 
guard,  Clement." 

And  this  thought  agitated  his 
nerves  and  kept  him  in  continual 
awe. 

He  was  like  a  soldier  within  the 
enemy's  lines. 

One  night,  a  beautiful,  clear,  frosty 
night,  he  came  back  to  his  cell,  after 
a  short  rest.  The  stars  were  wonder- 
ful. Heaven  seemed  a  thousand  times 
larger  as  well  as  brighter  than  earth, 

*  Dr.  Dickson,  author  of  "  Fallacies  of  the 
Faculty,' '  etc. 

t  It  is  related  of  a  mediieval  hermit,  that, 
being  offered  a  garment  made  of  cats'  skins, 
he  rejected  it,  saying  :  "  I  have  heard  of  a 
lamb  of  God.  but  I  never  heard  of  a  cat  of 
God." 


and  to  look  with  a  thousand  eyes 
instead  of  one. 

"  O,  M'onderful,"  he  cried,  "  that 
there  should  be  men  who  do  crimes  by 
night ;  and  others  scarce  less  mad, 
who  live  for  this  little  world,  and  not 
for  that  great  and  glorious  one,  wliich 
nightly,  to  all  eyes  not  blinded  by 
custom,  reveals  its  glowing  glories. 
Thank  God  I  am  a  hermit." 

And  in  this  mood  he  came  to  his 
cell  door. 

He  paused  at  it ;  it  was  closed. 

"  Why,  methought  I  left  it  open," 
said  he.  "  The  wind.  There  is  not 
a  breath  of  wind.  What  means 
this  ?  " 

He  stood  with  his  hand  upon  the 
ragged  door.  He  looked  through  one 
of  the  great  chinks,  for  it  was  much 
smaller  in  places  than  the  aperture  it 
pretended  to  close,  and  saw  his  little 
oil  wick  burning  just  where  he  had 
left  it. 

"  How  is  it  with  me,"  he  sighed, 
"  when  I  start  and  tremble  at  noth- 
ing 1  Either  I  did  shut  it,  or  the 
fiend  hath  shut  it  after  me  to  dis- 
turb my  happy  soul.  Retro  Satha- 
nas !  " 

And  he  entered  his  cave  rapidly, 
and  began  with  somewhat  nen'ous  ex- 
pedition to  light  one  of  his  largest  ta- 
pers. While  he  was  lighting  it,  there 
was  a  soft  sigh  in  the  cave. 

He  started  and  dropped  the  candle 
just  as  it  was  lighting,  and  it  went 
out. 

He  stooped  for  it  hurriedly  and 
lighted  it,  listening  intently.  When 
it  was  lighted  he  shaded  it  with  his 
hand  from  behind,  and  threw  the  faint 
light  all  round  the  cell. 

In  the  farthest  corner  the  outline  of 
the  wall  seemed  broken. 

He  took  a  step  towards  the  place 
with  his  heart  beating. 

The  candle  at  the  same  time  get- 
ting brighter,  he  saw  it  was  the  figure 
of  a  woman. 

Another  step  with  his  knees  knock- 
ing together. 

It  was  Makgaret  Brandt. 


404 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


CHAPTER   XCIV. 

Her  attitude  was  one  to  excite  pity 
ratlier  than  terror,  in  eyes  not  Mindcil 
by  a  preconceived  notion.  Her  li<>- 
som  was  Hutterin;:  like  a  bird,  and  the 
red  and  white  coniin;;  ind  KO'"tr  '" 
her  checks,  and  she  had  her  Uuud 
ajjainst  the  wall  by  tlic  instinct  of 
timid  thinfjs,  she  trembled  so;  and 
the  marvelhnis  mixefl  ;,M/.e  of  iovi', 
and  pious  awe,  and  pity,  and  teniler 
memories,  those  |)urple  eyes  cast  on 
the  emaciated  and  >;laring  hermit,  was 
an  event  in  nature. 

"Aha!"  he  cried.  "Thou  art 
come  at  last  in  tlesh  and  blood  ;  conic 
to  me  as  thou  earnest  to  holy  Antho- 
ny. Hut  1  am  ware  of  thee;  I 
thou;:ht  thy  wiles  were  not  exhausted. 
I  am  armed."  With  this  he  snatched 
up  his  small  crucili.Y  and  held  it  out 
at  her,  astonished,  and  the  candle  in 
the  otiier  hand,  both  crucitix  and  can- 
dle shaking:  violently,  "  Kxorci/.o  tc." 

"  Ah,  no  !  "  cried  she,  piteously  ; 
and  put  out  two  i)rctty  de|)recatintr 
palms.  "AIiw,  work  nic  no  ill  !  It 
IS  Marparct." 

"  Liar  I  "  shouted  the  hermit. 
"  Mar^raret  was  fair,  but  not  .so  super- 
natural fair  as  thou.  Thou  didst 
shrink  at  that  sacred  nanie,  thou 
subtle  hypocrite.  In  Nomine  Dei 
exorcizo  vos." 

"Ah,  Jcsu  !  "  pasped  Marparet,  in 
extremity  of  terror,  "  curse  me  not ! 
I  will  go  home.  I  thought  /  might 
come.  For  very  manhood  iK-Latin 
me  not !  O  Gerard,  is  it  thus  you  j 
and  I  meet  after  all,  —  after  all  ?  " 

And  she  cowered  almost  to  her 
knees,  and  sobbed  with  superstitious 
fear  and  wounded  affection. 

Impregnated  as  he  was  with  Satan- 
ophobia,  he  might  perhaps  have  ! 
doubted  still  whether  this  distressed 
creature,  all  woman  and  nature,  was 
not  all  art  and  tiend.  But  her  spon- 
taneous appeal  to  that  sacred  name 
dissolved  his  chimera,  and  let  him  see 
with  his  eyes,  and  hear  with  his 
ears. 

He  uttered  a  cry  of  self-reproach, 


and  tried  to  raise  her ;  but  what  wltn 
fasts,  what  with  the  oxrixiwering 
emotion  of  a  long  solitude  m»  broken, 
he  could  not.  "What,"  he  gus|K-<l, 
shaking  over  lier,  "  and  is  it  thou  ' 
And  have  I  met  thee  with  hard 
words  t  Ala-s  I  "  And  tliey  were  l>uili 
choked  with  emotion,  and  could  not 
sjH-ak  for  a  while. 

"  I  heed  it  not  much,"  said  Mar 
garet,  bravely,  struggling  with  li. t 
tears  ;  "  you  took  me  for  another  , 
for  a  devil ;  oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  oh !  oh  !  " 

"  Forgive  me,  sweet  f^oul  !  "  And. 
as  soon  lis  he  could  s|Hak  more  than 
a  word  at  a  time,  b«>  said  :  "  I  havi 
licen  mueli  beset  by  the  Kvil  One 
since   I   came   here." 

Margaret  looked  round  with  a 
shuilder.  "  Like  en<iw.  Then  ()  tak« 
my  hand,  and  let  me  lead  thee  from 
this  foul  place." 

He  gazed  at  her  with  astonish- 
ment. 

"  What,  desert  my  cell,  ami  go 
into  the  world  again  I  Is  it  for  that 
thou  hast  come  to  me?"  said  he, 
sadly  and  nproaehfully. 

"  Ay,  Cicrard.  I  am  come  to  take 
thee  to  thy  pretty  vicarage  ;  art  viear 
of  (iouda,  tlianks  to  Heaven  and  thy 
gooil  brother  (jiles  ;  and  tnotlier  antl 
I  have  made  it  so  neat  for  thee,  (Je- 
rard.  'T  is  well  enow  in  winter,  I 
promise  tliee.  Hut  bide  a  bit  till  the 
hawthorn  bloom,  and  anon  thy  walls 
put  on  their  kirtle  of  brave  n)st«  and 
sweet  woodbine.  Have  we  forgotten 
thee,  and  the  foolish  things  thou 
lovest  ?  And,  dear  CJerard,  thy  moth- 
er is  waiting,  and  't  is  late  for  her  to 
be  out  of  her  l)cd  ;  jirithcc  ;  prithee  ; 
come  !  And  the  moment  we  are  out 
of  this  foul  hole  I  '11  show  thee  a 
treasure  thou  hast  gotten,  and  know- 
est  naught  on  't,  or  sure  hadst  never 
fletl  from  us  so.  Alas  !  what  is  to  do  ? 
What  have  I  ignorantly  said,  to  bo 
regarded  thus  ?  " 

For  he  had  drawn  himself  all  up 
into  a  heap,  and  was  looking  at  her 
with  a  strange  gaze  of  fear  and  sus- 
picion blended. 

"  Unhappy  girl,"  said  he,  solemnly, 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEABTH. 


405 


yet  deeply  agitated,  "  would  you 
have  me  risk  my  soul  and  yours  for 
a  miserable  vicarage  and  the  flowers 
that  grow  on  it  ?  But  this  is  not  thy 
doing ;  the  bowelless  fiend  sends  thee, 
poor  simple  girl,  to  me  M'ith  this  bait. 
But,  0  cunning  fiend,  I  will  unmask 
thee  even  to  this  thine  instrument, 
and  she  shall  see  thee,  and  abhor  thee 
as  I  do.  Margaret,  my  lost  love, 
ivhy  am  I  herel  Because  I  love 
thee." 

"  O  no,  Gerard,  you  love  me  not, 
or  you  would  not  have  hidden  from 
mc ;  there  was  no  need." 

"  Let  there  be  no  deceit  between 
us  twain,  that  have  loved  so  true, 
and  after  this  night  shall  meet  no 
more  on  earth." 

"  Now  God  forbid,"  said  she. 

"  I  love  thee,  and  thou  hast  not 
forgotten  me,  or  thou  hadst  married 
ere  this,  and  hadst  not  been  the  one 
to  find  me,  buried  here  from  sight  of 
man.  I  am  a  priest,  a  monk;  what 
but  folly  or  sin  can  come  of  you  and 
me  living  neighbors,  and  feeding  a 
passion  innocent  once,  but  now  (so 
Heaven  wills  it)  impious  and  unholy  ? 
No,  though  my  heart  break  I  must 
be  firm.  'T  is  I  that  am  the  man, 
'tis  I  that  am  the  priest.  You  and 
I  must  meet  no  more,  till  I  am 
schooled  by  solitude,  and  thou  art 
wedded  to  another." 

"  I  consent  to  my  doom,  but  not 
to  thine.  I  would  ten  times  liever 
die  ;  yet  I  will  marry,  ay,  wed  misery 
itself  sooner  than  let  thee  lie  in  this 
foul  dismal  place,  with  yon  sweet 
manse  a  waiting  for  thee."  Clement 
groaned ;  at  each  word  she  spoke 
out  stood  clearer  and  clearer  two 
things,  —  his  duty,  and  the  agony  it 
must  cost. 

"  My  beloved,"  said  he,  with  a 
strange  mixture  of  tenderness  and 
dogged  resolution,  "  I  bless  thee  for 
giving  me  one  more  sight  of  thy 
sweet  face,  and  may  God  forgive  thee, 
and  bless  thee,  for  destroying  in  a 
minute  the  holy  peace  it  hath  taken 
six  months  of  solitude  to  build.  No 
matter.     A  year  of  penance  will,  Dei 


gratia,  restore  me  to  my  calm.  My 
poor  Margaret,  I  seem  cruel ;  yet  I 
am  kind  ;  't  is  best  we  part ;  ay,  this 
moment." 

"Part,  Gerard?  Never;  we  have 
seen  what  comes  of  parting.  Part  1 
Why,  you  have  not  heard  half  my 
story ;  no,  nor  the  tithe.  'T  is  not 
for  thy  mere  comfort  I  take  thee  to 
Gouda  manse.     Hear  me !  " 

"  I  may  not.  Thy  very  voice  is  a 
temptation  with  its  music,  memory's 
delight." 

"But  I  say  you  shall  hear  me, 
Gerard,  for  forth  this  place  I  go  not 
unheard." 

"  Then  must  we  part  by  other 
means,"  said  Clement,  sadly. 

"  Alack  !  what  other  means  ? 
Wouldst  put  me  to  thine  own  door, 
being  the  stronger  1 " 

"  Nay,  Margaret,  well  thou  know- 
est  I  would  sulFer  many  deaths  rather 
than  put  force  on  thee ;  thy  sweet 
body  is  dearer  to  me  than  my  own  ; 
but  a  million  times  dearer  to  mc  are 
our  immortal  souls,  both  thine  and 
mine.  I  have  withstood  this  direst 
temptation  of  all  long  enow.  Now  I 
must  fly  it ;  farewell  !  farewell." 

He  made  to  the  door,  and  had 
actually  opened  it  and  got  half  out, 
when  she  darted  after  and  caught  him 
by  the  arm. 

"  Nay,  then  another  must  speak  for 
me.  I  thought  to  reward  thee  for 
yielding  to  me ;  but,  unkind  that  thou 
art,  I  need  his  help,  I  find ;  turn  then 
this  way  one  moment." 

"  Nay,  nay." 

"  But  I  say  ay !  And  then  turn 
thy  back  on  us  an  thou  canst."  She 
somewhat  relaxed  her  grasp,  thinking 
he  would  never  deny  her  so  small  a 
favor.  But  at  this  he  saw  his  oppor- 
tunity and  seized  it. 

"  Fly,  Clement,  fly  !  "  he  almost 
shrieked,  and,  his  religious  enthusi- 
asm giving  him  for  a  moment  his  old 
strength,  he  burst  wildly  away  from 
her,  and  after  a  few  steps  bounded 
over  the  little  stream  and  ran  beside 
it,  but,  finding  he  was  not  followed, 
stopped,  and  looked  back. 


406 


THE   CLOISTER  AND   THE  HEARTH. 


She  was  lying  on  her  face,  with 
her  hands  spread  out. 

Yes,  without  meaning  it,  he  had 
thrown  her  down  and  liurt  her. 

When  he  saw  that,  lie  groaned  and 
turned  back  a  step ;  but,  suddenly,  by 
another  impulse,  tlung  himself  into 
the  icy  water  instead. 

"  There,  kill  my  body  !  "  he  cried, 
"  but  save  my  soul  !  " 

Whilst  he  stood  there,  up  to  his 
throat  in  liquid  ice,  so  to  speak, 
Margaret  uttered  one  long,  piteous 
moan,  and  rose  to  her  knees. 

He  saw  her  as  plain  almost  as  in 
midday.  Saw  her  face  pale  and  her 
eyes  glistening ;  and  then  in  the  still 
night  he  heard  these  words  :  — 

"  O  God !  thou  that  knowest  all, 
thou  seest  how  I  am  used.  Forgive 
me  then  !  For  I  will  not  live  anotlicr 
day."  With  this  she  suddenly  started 
to  lier  feet,  and  flew  like  some  wild 
creature,  wounded  to  death,  dose  by 
his  miserable  hiding-place,  shrieking  : 
"  Cruel !  —  cruel !  —  cruel !  —  cruel !  " 

What  manifold  anguish  may  burst 
ft'om  a  human  heart  in  a  single  sylla- 
ble !  There  were  wounded  love,  and 
wounded  pride,  and  despair,  and  com- 
ing madness,  all  in  that  piteous  cry. 
Clement  heard,  and  it  froze  his  heart 
with  terror  and  remorse,  worse  than 
the  icy  water  chilled  the  marrow  of 
his  bones. 

He  felt  he  had  driven  her  from  him 
forever,  and  in  the  midst  of  his  dis- 
mal triumph,  the  greatest  he  had  won, 
there  came  an  almost  incontrollable 
impulse  to  curse  the  Church,  to  curse 
religion  itself,  for  exacting  such  sav- 
age cruelty  from  mortal  man.  At 
last  he  crawled,  half  dead,  out  of  the 
water,  and  staggered  to  his  den.  "  I 
am  safe  here,"  he  groaned  ;  "  she  will 
never  come  near  mc  again  ;  unmanly, 
ungrateful  wretch  that  I  am."  And 
he  flung  his  emaciated,  frozen  body 
down  on  the  floor,  not  without  a  se- 
cret hope  that  it  might  never  rise 
thence  alive. 

But  presently  he  saw  by  the  hour- 
glass that  it  was  past  midnight.     On 


this  he  rose  slowly  and  took  off  his 
wet  things,  and,  moaning  all  the  time 
at  the  pain  he  had  cau.sed  her  he 
loved,  put  on  the  old  hermit's  cilice 
of  bristles,  and  over  that  bis  breast- 
plate. He  had  never  worn  either  of 
these  before,  doubting  himself  worthy 
to  don  the  arms  of  tluit  tried  soldier. 
But  now  he  must  give  himself  every 
aid ;  the  bristles  might  distract  hi> 
earthly  remorse  by  bodily  pain,  and 
there  might  Ikj  holy  virtue  in  the 
breastplate. 

Then  be  kneeled  down  and  prayed 
God  humbly  to  release  him  that  very 
night  from  the  burden  of  the  flesh. 
Then  he  lighted  all  his  candles,  and 
recited  his  psalter  doggedly  ;  each 
word  seemed  to  come  like  a  lump  of 
lead  from  a  leaden  heart,  and  to  fall 
leaden  to  the  ground ;  and  in  this 
mechanical  ollice  every  ni>\v  and  then 
he  moaned  with  all  bis  soul.  In  the 
midst  of  which  he  suddenly  observed 
a  little  bundle  in  the  corner,  he  had 
not  seen  before  in  the  feebler  light, 
and  at  one  end  of  it  something  like 
gold  s[Miu  into  silk. 

He  wtiK  to  see  what  it  could  l>c ; 
and  hv.  had  no  sooner  viewed  it  closer 
than  he  threw  up  his  hands  with  rap- 
ture. "  It  is  a  seraph,"  he  whisjK'red, 
"a  lovely  seraph.  Heaven  has  wit- 
nessed my  bitter  trial,  and  aj)prove3 
my  cruelty  ;  and  this  flower  of  the 
skies  is  .sent  to  cheer  me,  fainting  un- 
der my  burden." 

He  fell  on  his  knees,  and  gazed 
with  ecstasy  on  its  golden  hair,  and 
its  tender  skin  and  cheeks  like  a  peach. 

"  Let  me  feast  my  sad  eyes  on  thee 
ere  thou  leavest  me  for  thine  ever- 
blessed  abode,  and  my  cell  darkens 
again  at  thy  parting  as  it  did  at  hers." 

With  all  this  the  hermit  disturbed 
the  lovely  visitor.  He  opened  wide 
two  eyes  the  color  of  heaven  ;  and, 
seeing  a  strange  figure  kneeling  over 
him,  he  cried  piteously  :  "  Mum — ma  ! 
Mum — ma  !  "  And  the  tears  began 
to  run  down  his  little  cheeks. 

Perhaps,  after  all,  Clement,  who 
for  more  than  six  months  had  not 
looked  on  a  human  face  divine,  e«ti- 


THE   CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


407 


mated  childisli  beauty  more  justly 
than  wo  can  ;  and  in  truth,  this  fair 
northern  child,  with  it«  Iotii;  golden 
hair,  was  far  more  an^^clic  than  any 
of  our  imagined  angels.  But  now  the 
spell  was  broken. 

Yet  not  unhappily.  Clement,  it 
may  be  remembered,  was  fond  of 
ciiihlren,  and  true  monastic  life  fosters 
this  sentiment.  The  innocent  dis- 
tress on  the  cherubic  face,  the  tears 
that  ran  so  smoothly  from  those 
transparent  violets,  his  eyes,  and  his 
jirctty,  dismal  cry  for  his  only  friend, 
his  mother,  went  through  the  her- 
mit's heart.  He  employed  all  his 
gentleness  and  all  his  art  to  soothe 
him,  and,  as  the  little  soul  was  won- 
derfully intelligent  for  his  age,  pres- 
ently succeeded  so  far  that  he  ceased 
to  cry  out,  and  wonder  took  the  place 
of  fear,  while  in  silence,  broken  only 
in  little  gulps,  he  scanned  with  great 
tearful  eyes  this  strange  figure  that 
looked  so  wild,  but  spoke  so  kindly, 
and  wore  armor,  and  did  not  kill  little 
boys,  and  coaxed  them.  Clement 
was  equally  perplexed  to  know  how 
this  little  human  flower  came  to  lie 
sparkling  and  blooming  in  his  gloomy 
cave.  But  he  remembered  he  had  left 
the  door  wide  open,  and  he  was  driv- 
en to  conclude  that,  owing  to  this 
negligence,  some  unfortunate  crea- 
ture of  high  or  low  degree  had  seized 
this  opportunity  to  get  rid  of  her  child 
forever.*  At  this  his  bowels  yearned 
so  over  the  poor  deserted  cherub,  that 
the  tears  of  pure  tenderness  stood  in 
his  eyes,  and  still,  beneath  the  crime 
of  the  mother,  he  saw  the  divine 
goodness,  which  had  so  directed  her 
heartlessness  as  to  comfort  his  ser- 
vant's breaking  heart. 

"  Now  bless  thee,  bless  thee,  bless 
thee,  sweet  innocent;  I  would  not 
change  thee  for  e'en  a  cherub  in  heav- 
en." 

"  At 's  pooty,"  replied  the  infant, 
ignoring  contemptuously,  after  the 
manner  of  infants,  all  remarks  that 
did  not  interest  him. 

*  More  than  one  hermit  had  received  a 
present  o(  this  kind. 

]8 


"  What  is  pretty  here,  my  love,  be- 
sides thee  1  " 

"  Ookum-gars,"  *  said  the  boy, 
pointing  to  the  hermit's  breastplate. 

"  Quot  liberi,  tot  sententiunculise  !  " 
Hector's  child  screamed  at  his  father's 
glittering  casque  and  nodding  crest; 
and  here  was  a  mediajval  babe 
charmed  with  a  polished  cuirass,  and 
his  griefs  assuaged. 

"  There  are  prettier  things  here 
than  that,"  said  Clement,  "  there  are 
little  birds  ;  lovest  thou  birds  ?  " 

"  Nay.  Ay.  En  um  ittle,  cry  it- 
tie  ?  Not  ike  torks.  Hate  torks  um 
bigger  an  baby." 

He  then  confided,  in  very  broken 
language,  that  the  storks  with  their 
great  flapping  wings  scared  him,  and 
were  a  great  trouble  and  worry  to 
him,  darkening  his  existence  more  or 
less. 

"  Ay,  but  my  birds  are  very  little 
and  good,  and  O,  so  pretty!  " 

"  Den  I  ikes  'm,"  said  the  child, 
authoritatively.  "  I  ont  my  mam- 
my." 

"  Alas,  sweet  dove !  I  doubt  I 
shall  have  to  fill  her  place  as  best  I 
may.  Hast  thou  no  daddy  as  well 
as  mammy,  sweet  one  ?  " 

Now  not  only  was  this  conversa- 
tion from  first  to  last,  the  relative 
ages,  situations,  and  all  circumstan- 
ces of  the  parties  considered,  as 
strange  a  one  as  ever  took  place  be- 
tween two  mortal  creatures,  but  at 
or  within  a  second  or  two  of  the  her- 
mit's last  question,  to  turn  the 
strange  into  the  marvellous,  came  an 
unseen  witness,  to  whom  every  word 
that  passed  carried  ten  times  the 
force  it  did  to  either  of  the  speakers. 

Since,  therefore,  it  is  with  her  eyes 
you  must  now  see,  and  hear  with  her 
ears,  I  go  back  a  step  for  her. 

Margaret,  when  she  ran  past  Ge- 
rard, was  almost  mad.  She  was  in 
that  state  of  mind  in  which  affection- 
ate mothers  have  been  known  to  kill 
their  children,  sometimes  along  with 
themselves,  sometimes  alone,  which 
*  Query  ?  "  looking-glass- '' 


408 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE  HEARTH. 


last  is  certainly  maniacal.  She  ran 
to  Richt  Heynes  pale  and  trcmblinf;, 
and  clasped  her  round  the  neck. 
"0  Richt!  0  Richt!"  and  could 
say  no  more.  Richt  kissed  her  and 
began  to  whimper ;  and,  would  you 
believe  if?  the  great  mastiff  uttered 
one  long  whine  :  even  his  glimmer  of 
sense  taught  him  grief  was  afloat. 

"  O  Richt !  "  moaned  the  despised 
beauty,  as  soon  as  she  could  utter  a 
word  for  choking,  "  see  liow  he  has 
served  me";  and  she  showed  her 
hands  that  were  bleeding  with  falling 
on  the  stony  ground.  "  He  threw 
me  down,  he  was  so  eager  to  fly  from 
me.  He  took  me  for  a  devil ;  he  said 
I  came  to  tempt  him.  Am  I  the 
woman  to  tempi  a  man  1  you  know 
me,  Richt." 

"  Nay,  in  sooth,  sweet  Mistress 
Margaret,  the  last  i'  the  world." 

"  And  he  would  not  look  at  my 
child.  I  '11  fling  myself  and  him  into 
the  Rotter  this  night." 

"  O,  fie,  fie  !  eh,  my  sweet  woman, 
speak  not  so.  Is  any  man  that 
breathes  worth  your  child's  life  ?  " 

"  My  child  !  where  is  he  ?  Why, 
Richt,  I  have  left  him  behind.  O, 
shame  !  is  it  possible  I  can  love  him 
to  that  degree  as  to  forget  my  child  ? 
Ah !  I  am  rightly  served  for  it." 

And  she  sat  down,  and  faithful 
Richt  beside  her,  and  they  sobbed  in 
one  another's  arms. 

After  a  while  Margaret  left  off  sob- 
bing and  said,  doggedly,  "  Let  us  go 
home." 

"  Ay,  but  the  bairn  ?  " 

"  O,  he  is  well  where  he  is.  My 
heart  is  turned  against  my  very  child. 
He  cares  naught  for  him  ;  would  n't 
see  him,  nor  hear  speak  of  him  ; 
and  I  took  him  there  so  proud, 
and  made  his  hair  so  nice  1  did, 
and  put  his  new  frock  and  cowl 
on  him.  Nay,  turn  about ;  it 's  his 
child  as  well  as  mine  ;  let  him  keep  it 
awhile  :  mayhap  that  will  learn  him 
to  think  more  of  its  mother  and  his 
own." 

"  High  words  off  an  empty  stom- 
ach," said  Richt. 


"  Time  will  show.  Come  then 
home." 

They  departed,  and  time  did  show 
quicker  than  he  levels  abbeys,  for  at 
the  second  step  Margaret  stojjpcd, 
and  could  neither  go  one  way  nor  the 
other,  but  stood  stock-still. 

"  Richt,"  said  she,  pitcously, 
"  what  else  have  I  on  earth  ?  I  can- 
not." 

"  \Vho  ever  said  you  could  ? 
Think  you  I  paid  attention  ?  Words 
arc  woman's  t)reath.  Come  back  for 
him  without  more  ado  ;  't  is  time  we 
were  in  our  beds,  much  more  he." 

Richt  led  the  way,  and  Margaret 
followed  readily  enough  in  that  di- 
rection ;  but  as  tlicy  drew  near  the 
cell  she  stopped  again. 

"  Richt,  go  you  and  ask  him  will 
he  give  me  back  my  boy  ;  for  I  could 
not  bear  the  sight  of  him." 

"  Alas !  mistress,  this  do  seem  a 
sorry  ending  after  all  that  hath  been 
betwixt  you  twain.  Bethink  thee 
now,  doth  thine  heart  whisper  no  ex- 
cuse for  him  i  dost  verily  hate  him 
for  whom  thou  hast  waited  so   long  ? 

0  weary  world  !  " 

"Hate  him,  Richt?  I  would  not 
harm  a  hair  of  his  head  for  all  that  is 
in  nature  ;  but  look  on  him  I  cannot ; 

1  have  taken  a  horror  of  him.  O, 
when  I  think  of  all  I  have  suffered 
for  him,  and  what  I  came  here  this 
night  to  do  for  him,  and  brought  my 
own  darling  to  kiss  him  and  call  him 
father.  Ah ;  Luke,  my  poor  chap, 
my  wound  showeth  me  thine.  I  have 
thought  too  little  of  thy  pangs,  whose 
true  affection  I  despise ;  and  now 
my  ovvn  is  despised.  Richt,  if  the 
poor  lad  was  here  now,  he  would 
have  a  good  chance." 

"  Well,  he  is  not  far  off,"  said 
Richt  Heynes,  but  somehow  she  did 
not  say  it  with  alacritv'. 

"  Speak  not  to  me  of  any  man," 
said  Margaret,  bitterly,  "  I  hate  them 
all." 

"  For  the  sake  of  one  ?  " 

"  Flout  me  not,  but  prithee  go  for- 
ward and  get  me  what  is  my  own, 
my  sole   joy  in    the    world.     Thou 


THE  cloistp:r  and  the  hearth. 


409 


knowest  I  am  on  thorns  till  I  have 
him  to  my  bosom  ajrain." 

Richt  went  forward  ;  Marjraret 
sat  by  the  roadside  and  covered  her 
face  with  her  apron,  and  rocked  her- 
self after  the  manner  of  her  conntry, 
for  her  soul  was  full  of  bitterness  and 
grief  So  severe,  indeed,  was  the  in- 
ternal conflict,  that  she  did  not  hear 
Richt  running  back  to  her,  and  start- 
ed violently  when  the  young  woman 
laid  a  hand  upon  her  shoulder. 

"  Mistress  Margaret !  "  said  Richt, 
quietly,  "  take  a  fool's  advice  tliat 
loves  ye.  Go  softly  to  yon  cave  wi' 
all  the  ears  and  eyes  your  mother 
ever  gave  you." 

"  Why  ?  — what,  — Richt  ?  "  stam- 
mered Margaret. 

"  I  thought  the  cave  was  afire, 
't  was  so  light  inside  ;  and  tliere  were 
voices." 

"  Voices  ? " 

"Ay,  not  one,  but  twain,  and  all 
unlike  —  a  man's  and  a  little  child's, 
talking  as  pleasant  as  you  and  me. 
I  am  no  great  hand  at  a  keyhole  for 
my  part,  'tis  paltry  work;  but  if  so 
be  voices  were  a  talking  in  yon  cave, 
and  them  that  owned  those  voices 
were  so  near  to  me  as  those  are  to 
thee,  I  'd  go  on  all  fours  like  a  fox, 
and  I  'd  crawl  on  my  belly  like  a  ser- 
pent, ere  I  'd  lose  one  word  that 
passes  atwixt  those  twain." 

"  Whisht,  Richt  !  Bless  thee  ! 
Bide  thou  here.  Buss  me  !  Pray  for 
me!" 

And,  almost  ere  the  agitated  words 
had  left  her  lips,  Margaret  was  fl}*ing 
towards  the  hermitage  as  noiselessly 
as  a  lapwing.  Arrived  near  it,  she 
crouched,  and  there  was  something 
truly  serpentine  in  the  gliding,  flexi- 
ble, noiseless  movements  by  which  she 
reached  the  very  door,  and  there  she 
found  a  chink  and  listened.  And  of- 
ten it  cost  her  a  struggle  not  to  burst 
in  upon  them,  but,  warned  by  defeat, 
she  was  cautious,  and  resolute  to  let 
well  alone.  And  after  a  while  slowly 
and  noiselessly  siie  reared  her  head, 
like  a  snake  its  crest,  to  where  she 
saw  the  broadest  chink  of  all,   and 


looked  with  all  her  eyes  and  soul,  as 
well  as  listened. 

The  little  boy  then,  being  asked 
whether  he  had  no  daddy,  at  first 
shook  his  head,  and  would  say  noth- 
ing ;  but,  being  pressed,  he  suddenly 
seemed  to  remember  something,  and 
said  he  :  "  Dad — da  ill  man ;  run 
away  and  leave  poor  mum — ma." 

She  who  heard  this  winced.  It  was 
as  new  to  her  as  to  Clement.  Some 
interfering  foolish  woman  had  gone 
and  said  this  to  the  boy,  and  now  out 
it  came  in  Gerard's  very  face.  His 
answer  surprised  her  ;  he  burst  out : 
"  The  villain  !  the  monster  !  he  must 
be  bom  without  bowels  to  desert 
thee,  sweet  one.  Ah  !  he  little  knows 
the  joy  he  hath  turned  his  back  on. 
Well,  my  little  dove,  I  must  be  fa- 
ther and  mother  to  thee,  since  the  one 
runs  away,  and  t'other  abandons  thee 
to  my  care.  Now  to-morrow  I  shall 
ask  the  good  people,  that  bring  me 
my  food,  to  fetch  some  nice  eggs  and 
milk  for  thee  as  well ;  for  bread  is 
good  enough  for  poor  old  good-for- 
nothing  me,  but  not  for  thee.  And  I 
shall  teach  thee  to  read." 
"  I  can  yead,  I  can  yead." 
"  Ay  verily,  so  young  ?  all  the  bet- 
ter ;  we  will  read  good  books  together, 
and  I  shall  show  thee  the  way  to 
heaven.  Heaven  is  a  beautiful  place, 
a  thousand  times  fairer  and  better 
than  earth,  and  there  be  little  cherubs 
like  thyself,  in  white,  glad  to  welcome 
thee  and  love  thee.  Wouldst  like  to 
go  to  heaven  one  daj'  ?  " 

"  Ay,  along  wi'  —  my  —  mammy." 
"  What,  not  without  her  then  ?  " 
"  Nay.     I  ont  my  mammy.  WTiere 
is  my  mammy  ?  " 

(O,  what  it  cost  poor  Margaret  not 
to  burst  in  and  clasp  him  to  her 
heart ! ) 

"  Well,  fret  not,  sweetheart,  may- 
hap she  will  come  when  thou  art 
asleep.  Wilt  thou  be  good  now  and 
sleep  1  " 

"  I  not  eepy.     Ikes  to  talk." 
"  Well,  talk  we  then  :  tell  me  thy 
pretty  name." 

"  Baby."    And  he  opened  his  eyes 


410 


Tin;   CLOISTKR    AND   TFIK    HF.ARTH. 


with  amazement  at   this   ^^roat   hulk- 
ing' creaturf's  i;.Mn>raiice. 

'•  Hast  none  otlmr  ?  " 

"  Nav." 

"  Wfiiit  shall  I  <lo  to  pleasure  thcc, 
bahy  f     Shall  I  tell  thir  a  .storv  ?  " 

'*  I  ikes  tories,"  said  the  boy,  elap- 
pinc  his  haiuls. 

"  Or  sine  thee  a  sonp  1  " 

"  I  ikc.s  tiiDK!*,"  and  he  b<xan>c  ex- 
cited. 

"  Choose  then,  a  sonp  or  a  sto- 
ry." 

'  "  Tinjj  I  a  tonp.  Nay,  tell  I  a 
torv.  Nay,  tinp  I  a  ton^.  Nay  —  " 
Ami  thf  corners  of  hi'<  little  mouth 
turnrd  down  and  he  hud  halt'  a  mind 
to  wrep  because  he  could  not  have 
both,  and  eoidil  not  tell  which  to 
forepo.  Sudtlenly  his  little  face 
cleared  :  "  Tinp  1  a  tory,"  said  he. 

"  Sini;  thee  a  story,  baby  1  Well, 
after  all,  why  not  !  Ami  wilt  thou 
sit  o'  my  knei'S  and  hear  it  !  " 

"  Yea." 

"  Then  I  must  e'en  doflfthis  brea-st- 
platc.  'T  is  too  hard  for  thy  soft 
check.  So.  And  now  I  must  dotV 
this  bristly  ciliee  ;  they  would  prick 
thy  tender  skin.  jKThaps  make  it 
bleed,  as  t!ny  have  nu\  I  see.  So. 
Ami  now  I  ])Ut  on  my  Ik-si  pelisse,  in 
honor  of  thy  worshiptul  visit.  Sec 
how  soft  and  warm  it  is  ;  bless  the 
pK)d  soul  that  st-nt  it  ;  and  now  I  sit 
me  ilown  ;  so.  And  I  take  thee  on  my 
left  knee,  and  put  my  arm  under  thv 
little  head  ;  so.  And  then  the  psal- 
tery, ami  jilay  a  little  tunc ;  so,  not 
too  loud." 

"  I  ikes  that." 

"  I  am  ripht  glad  on  't.  Now  list 
the  story." 

He  chanted  a  child's  story  in  a  sort 
of  recitative,  sinpinp  a  little  moral 
refrain  now  and  then.  The  boy 
listened  with  rapture. 

"  I  ikes  oo,"  said  he.  "  Ot  is  oo  ? 
is  oo  a  man  1 " 

"  Ay,  little  heart,  and  a  great  sin- 
ner to  boot." 

"  I  ikes  great  tingers.  Ting  one 
other  tory." 

Story  No.  2  was  chanted. 


"  I  ubbs  oo,"  rrie<l  the  child,  Iro- 
jK-tuously.     "  Ot  caft  •  is  oo  !  " 

•'  1  am  a  hermit,  love." 

"  I  ubbs  vcrmins.  Ting  other 
one." 

Hut,  during  this  final  performance, 
Nature  sudilenly  helil  out  her  leaden 
scrjiire  over  the  youthful  eyelids.  "  I 
is  n«)t  i-epy,"  whinetl  he,  very  faintly, 
and  succumlK-d. 

Clement  laid  down  his  psaltery 
softly  and  In-gan  to  rwk  his  new 
tri'asure  in  his  anus,  and  to  crone 
over  him  a  little  lullaby  well  known 
in  Tergou,  with  which  his  own  moth- 
er had  often  set  him  otT. 

And  the  child  sank  into  a  profound 
sleep  upon  his  arm.  Ami  he  stopped 
cnining  and  gazed  on  him  with  in- 
finite temlerness,  yet  siulncss  ;  for  at 
that  moment  he  could  not  help  think- 
ing what  might  have  Ix-en  but  for  a 
piece  of  pajHT  with  a  lie  in  it. 

He  .•^ighed  deeply. 

The  next  moment  the  moonlight 
burst  into  his  cell,  and  with  it,  and  in 
it,  and  almost  as  swift  as  it,  Margaret 
lirandt  wa.s  down  at  bi.s  knee  with  a 
timorous  hand  uf)on  his  shoulder. 

"  GkKAKK,  rOf  I>C)  NOT  BEJECT 
us.       You  CAN.NOT." 


CHAPTER  XCV. 

The  startled  hermit  glared  from  his 
nursling  to  Margaret,  and  from  her 
to  him.  in  amaz-ement,  etpialled  only 
bv  his  ixgitation  at  her  so  unexjK-cted 
return.  The  child  lay  asleep  on  his 
left  arm,  and  she  wixs  at  his  right 
knee ;  no  longer  the  pale,  scared, 
panting  girl  be  had  overpowered  so 
easily  an  hour  or  two  ago,  but  an  im- 
periiil  beauty,  with  blushing  checks 
and  sparkling  eyes,  and  lips  sweetly 
parted  in  triumph,  and  ner  whole 
face  radiant  with  a  look  he  could  not 
quite  read  ;  for  he  had  never  yet  seen 
it  on  her  ;  maternal  jiridc. 

He    stared    and    stared    from    the 

*  Craft.    Ue  meauf  trade  or  profession. 


THE   CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


411 


child  to   her,   in    throbbing    amaze- 
ment. 

"  Us  ■?  "  he  gasped  at  last.  And 
still  his  wonder-stricken  eyes  turned 
to  and  fro. 

Margaret  was  surprised  in  her 
turn.  It  was  an  age  of  impressions, 
not  facts.  "  What,"  she  cried,  "  doth 
ni)t  a  father  know  his  own  child? 
and  a  man  of  God,  too  f  Fie,  Ge- 
rard, to  pretend !  nay,  thou  art  too 
wise,  too  good,  not  to  have  —  why, 
I  watched  thee,  and  e'en  now  look  at 
you  twain !  'T  is  thine  own  flesh 
and  blood  thou  boldest  to  thine 
heart." 

Clement  trembled.  "  What  words 
are  these  ?  "  he  stammered  ;  "  this  an- 
gel mine  1  " 

"  Whose  else?  since  he  is  mine." 

Clement  turned  on  the  sleeping 
child,  with  a  look  beyond  the  power 
of  the  pen  to  describe,  and  trembled 
all  over,  as  his  eyes  seemed  to  ab- 
sorb the  little  love. 

Margaret's  eyes  followed  his.  "  He 
is  not  a  bit  like  me,"  said  she,  proud- 
ly :  "  but  O  at  whiles  he  is  thy  very 
image  in  little ;  and  see  this  golden 
hair.  Thine  was  the  very  color  at 
his  age  ;  ask  mother  else.  And  see 
this  mole  on  his  little  finger ;  now 
look  at  thine  own  ;  there!  'Twas 
thy  mother  let  me  weet  thou  wast 
marked  so  before  him  ;  and,  O  Ge- 
rard, 't  was  this  our  child  found  thee 
for  me ;  for  by  that  little  mark  on 
thy  finger  I  knew  thee  for  his  father, 
when  I  watched  above  thy  window 
and  saw  thee  feed  the  birds."  Here 
she  seized  the  child's  hand  and  kissed 
it  eagerly,  and  got  half  of  it  into  her 
mouth.  Heaven  knows  how.  "  Ah  ! 
bless  thee,  thou  didst  find  thy  poor 
daddy  for  her,  and  now  thou  hast 
made  us  friends  again  after  our  little 
quarrel ;  the  first,  the  last.  Wast 
very  cruel  to  me  but  now,  my  poor 
Gerard,  and  I  forgive  thee,  for  loving 
of  thy  child." 

"  Ah  !  ah  !  ah  i  ah  !  ah !  "  sobbed 
Clement,  choking. 

And  lowered  by  fasts,  and  unnerved 


by  solitude,  the  once  strong  man  was 
hysterical,  and  nearly  fainting. 

Margaret  was  alarmed,  but,  having 
experience,  her  pity  was  greater  than 
her  fear.  "  Nay,  take  not  on  so,"  she 
murmured,  soothingly,  and  put  a 
gentle  hand  upon  his  brow.  "  Be 
brave  !  So,  so.  Dear  heart,  thou 
art  not  the  first  man  that  hath  gone 
abroad  and  come  back  richer  by  a 
lovely  little  self  than  he  went  forth. 
Being  a  man  of  God,  take  courage, 
and  say  He  sends  thee  this  to  comfort 
thee  for  what  thou  hast  lost  in  me, 
and  that  is  not  so  very  much,  my 
lamb  ;  for  sure  the  better  part  of  love 
shall  ne'er  cool  here  to  thee,  though 
it  may  in  thine,  and  ought,  being  a 
priest,  and  parson  of  Gouda." 

"  I  ?  priest  of  Gouda  ?  Never  !  " 
muiTuured  Clement,  in  a  faint  voice, 
"  I  am  a  friar  of  St.  Dominic  ;  yet 
speak  on,  sweet  music,  tell  me  all  that 
has  happened  thee,  before  we  are 
parted  again." 

Now  some  would  on  this  have  ex- 
claimed against  parting  at  all,  and 
raised  the  true  question  in  dispute. 
But  such  women  as  Margaret  do  not 
repeat  their  mistakes.  It  is  very  hard 
to  defeat  them  twice,  where  their 
hearts  are  set  on  a  thing. 

She  assented,  and  turned  her  back 
on  Gouda  manse  as  a  thing  not  to  be 
recuiTcd  to ;  and  she  told  him  her 
tale,  dwelling  above  all  on  the  kind- 
ness to  her  of  his  parents ;  and,  while 
she  related  her  troubles,  his  hand 
stole  to  hers,  and  often  she  felt  him 
wince  and  tremble  with  ire,  and 
often  press  her  hand,  sympathizing 
with  her  in  every  vein. 

"  O  piteous  tale  of  a  true  heart 
battling  alone  against  such  bitter 
odds,"  said  he. 

"  It  all  seems  small,  when  I  see 
thee  here  again,  and  nursing  my  boy. 
We  have  had  a  warning,  Gerard. 
True  friends  like  you  and  me  are 
rare,  and  they  are  mad  to  part,  ere 
death  divideth  them." 

"  And  that  is  true,"  said  Clement, 
off  his  guard. 

And  then  she  would  have  him  tell 


412 


THE  CLOISTF.U   AND   THi:   IIKAkin. 


her  whftt  lie  hnd  snffriTil  fur  her,  niul 
he  h«L,'m(|  hrr  to  I'Miiso  him,  ami  shi- 
coiisiiitfil ;  hut  hy  cnustioiis  quit-tly 
nvoktil  her  coiis«'iit  iiml  ehcit»'<l  it 
all  :  mill  iiiiiiiv  u  si:;li  she  hfavc«l  for 
hiiii,  1111(1  more  thiiii  uiuv  she  hid  her 
r.ifi'  ill  her  huiiils  with  terror  at  his 
penis,  ihoiii;h  past. 

AiKJ.  tu  ei)iis>>le  him  for  all  he  had 
piiie  tlirou^li,  she  kne«leii  down  and 
put  her  arms  uinler  the  litth-  l><>y, 
uikI  lifted  him  ^,'ently  up.  "  Ki.vs  him 
softly,"  sho  whisiH-n-tl.  "  A^^uin, 
ajjiiiii  !  ki-HS  thy  fill  if  thou  ranst ;  he 
is  sound.  'T  is  all  I  eaii  tic  to  com- 
fort thtv  till  thou  art  out  of  this  foul 
den  anil  in  thy  sweet  manse  yoii<ler." 

Clement  shook  his  hi-ad. 

"Well,"  said  she,  "  let  that  pass. 
Know  that  I  have  Uvn  son;  oirronted 
I'or  want  of  my  liin-s." 

"  Who  hath  dared  nlTnmt  thee  '  " 

"  No  matter,  tho.so  that  will  do  it 
acr>un  if  thou  hitst  lost  them,  whieh 
the  saints  forhid." 

■'  I  lose  them  <  nay,  theru  they  lie, 
close  to  thy  hand." 

"  Where,  when\  O  where  ?  " 

Clement  hun;;  his  head.  "  Ix)ok 
in  the  Vul;ratc.  Heaven  forfjivc  mc  ; 
I  thought  thou  wert  dead,  and  a  .saint 
ill  Heaven  " 

She  looke<|,  and  on  the  hiank  leaves 
of  ihe  poor  soul's  V'ulpate  she  found 
her  Tnarria;:e  lines. 

"  Thank  (JikI  !  "  sheened,—  "  thank 
(lod!  <>  hless  thei^,  (icrard,  hli-ss 
thee  !     Why.  what  is  here,  (Jeranl  ?  " 

<^n  the  other  leaves  were  pinnetl 
every  scrap  <d'  paper  she  had  ever 
sent  him,  and  tlieir  two  name.s  she 
h)ul  once  written  toother  in  sport, 
and  the  loik  of  her  hnir  she  hail 
jiiven  him,  and  half  a  silver  coin  she 
had  broken  with  him.  and  n  straw 
she  had  sucked  her  souj)  with  the  first 
day  he  ever  saw  her. 

When  Mar;;aret  saw  these  proofs 
of  love  and  sii:ns  of  a  <rentle  heart 
ben-aved,  even  her  exultation  at  fret- 
ting; hack  her  marriajro  lines  wivs 
overpowered  by  j;iishin«;  tenderness. 
She  almost  sta^xirered.  and  her  hand 
went  to  her  bosom,   and  she   leaned 


her  brow  airainst  the  stone  crll  and 
wept  so  silently  that  he  did  not  sco 
she  was  wee|>iii;;  ;  indivd  she  would 
not  let  him,  for  she  felt  that  to  be- 
friend  him  now  she  must  lie  the 
stronyer  ;  and  emotion  weakens. 

"  Cierard,"  said  she,  "  I  know  you 
wise  and  >;tMM|.  You  must  have  a 
reason  lor  what  you  are  doin;.',  let  it 
seem  ever  so  unreit-sonublc.  Talk  wo 
like  old  friends.  Why  ore  you  buried 
alive  '  " 

"  Maruarvt,   to  rsra|ie   temptation. 

My  impious  ire  ai.'ainst  tlios<-  two  had 

its  root  in  the  heart ;  that  heart   then 

I  must    ileaden,    and,    Dei    (gratia,    I 

shall.     Shall    1,  a    servant  of  Christ 

1  and  of  the  Church,  i-ourt  tem[>tation  ? 

Shall  I  i>niy  daily  to  Ik-  lol  out  on  't, 

and  walk  into  it  with  o|>en  ey««i  ?  " 

]      •'  That    is   c«mk1  .H«>nsc   any    way," 

said  Marpin-t,  with  aconsummat*)  af- 

!  feitation  of  candor. 

"  'T  is    unanswerable,"  said  Clcra- 
1  cut,  with  a  si^'h. 

;  '■  We  shall  sir  Tell  mc,  have  you 
escaped  temptation  hen* '  Why  I 
a-sk  is,  when  /  am  alone,  my  thou^htn 
are  far  nion.-  wild  and  fiMilish  than 
in  company.  Nay,  s|ieak  s<KJth  ; 
come!  " 

"  I  must  neeils  own  I  have  been 
worse  tempteil  here  with  evil  iroofp- 
nations  than  in  the  world." 

"  There  now." 

"Ay,  hut  so  were  Anthony,  and 
Jerome,  Macarius,  and  Hilarion,  Rcn- 
edict.  Hernanl,  and  all  tin*  sointa. 
'T  will  wear  off." 

"  How  do  you  know  i  " 

"  1  feel  sure  it  will." 
"  (»uessin;j  ai,'ninst  knowled^re. 
Here  'tis  men-folk  are  sillier  than  u.s 
that  be  but  women.  Wi.se  in  their 
own  eonccitd,  they  will  not  let  them- 
selves see  ;  their  stom:u-hs  arc  too 
hi^h  to  Ik*  taught  by  their  eyes.  A 
woman,  if  she  went  into  a  hole  in  a 
bank  to  escajK>  temptation,  and  there 
found  it.  would  just  lift  her  farthin- 
pale  and  out  on  't,  and  not  e'en  know 
how  wisi!  she  was,  till  she  watched  a 
n».in  in  like  plipht." 

"  Nay,    I    ixT&at    humility    and   a 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


413 


teachable  spirit  are  the  roads  to  wis- 
dom ;  but,  when  all  is  said,  here  I 
wrestle  but  with  imagination.  At 
Gouda  she  I  love  as  no  priest  or 
monk  must  love  any  but  the  angels, 
she  will  tempt  a  weak  soul,  unwilling 
yet  not  loath  to  be  tempted." 

"  Ay,  that  is  another  matter ;  / 
should  tempt  thee  then  ?  to  what,  i' 
God's  name  ? " 

"  Who  knows  ?  The  flesh  is 
weak." 

"  Speak  for  yourself,  my  lad. 
Why,  you  are  thinking  of  some  oth- 
er Margaret,  not  Margaret  a  Peter. 
W^as  ever  my  mind  turned  to  folly 
and  frailty  ?  Stay,  is  it  because  you 
were  my  husband  once,  as  these  lines 
avouch  ?  Think  you  the  road  to  folly 
is  beaten  for  you  more  than  for 
another  ?  O,  how  shallow  are  the 
wise,  and  how  little  able  are  you  to 
read  me,  who  can  read  you  so  well 
from  top  to  toe.  Come,  learn  thine 
ABC.  Were  a  stranger  to  proffer 
me  unchaste  love,  I  should  shrink  a 
bit,  no  doubt,  and  feel  sore,  but  I 
should  defend  myself  without  making 
a  coil ;  for  men,  I  know,  are  so,  the 
best  of  them  sometimes.  But  if  you, 
that  have  been  my  husband,  and  are 
my  child's  father,  were  to  offer  to 
humble  me  so  in  mine  own  eyes,  and 
thine,  and  his,  either  I  should  spit  in 
thy  face,  Gerard,  or,  as  I  am  not  a 
downright  vulgar  woman,  I  should 
snatch  the  first  weapon  at  hand  and 
strike  thee  dead." 

And  Margaret's  eyes  flashed  fire, 
and  her  nostrils  expanded,  that  it 
was  glorious  to  see  ;  and  no  one  that 
did  see  her  could  doubt  her  sincerity. 

"  I  had  not  the  sense  to  see  that," 
said  Gerard,  quietly.  And  he  pon- 
dered. 

Margaret  eyed  him  in  silence,  and 
soon  recovered  her  composure. 

"  Let  not  you  and  1  dispute,"  said 
she,  gently ;  "  speak  we  of  other 
things.     Ask  me  of  thy  folk." 

"My  f^ither-?" 

"  Well,  and  warms  to  thee  and  me. 
Poor  soul,  a  drew  glaive  on  those 
twain  that  day,  but  Jorian  Ketel  and 


i  I,  we  mastered  him,  and  he  drove  them 
forth  his  house  forever." 

"  That  may  not  be ;  he  must  take 
them  back." 

"  That  he  will  never  do  for  us. 
You  know  the  man  ;  he  is  dour  as 
iron  :  yet  would  he  do  it  for  one  word 
from  one  that  will  not  speak  it." 

"  Who  ?  " 

"  The  vicar  of  Gouda.  The  old 
man  will  be  at  the  manse  to-morrow, 
I  hear." 

"  How  you  come  back  to  that." 

"  Forgive  me :  I  am  but  a  woman. 
It  is  us  for  nagging ;  shouldst  keep 
me  from  it  wi'  questioning  of  me." 

"My  sister  Kate?" 

"  Alas !  " 

"  What,  hath  ill  befallen  e'en  that 
sweet  lily  ?     Out  and  alas  !  " 

"  Be  calm,  sweetheart,  no  harm 
hath  her  befallen.  O,  nay,  nay,  far 
fro'  that."  Then  Margaret  forced 
herself  to  be  composed,  and  in  a  low, 
sweet,  gentle  voice  she  munnured  to 
him  thus  :  "  My  poor  Gerard,  Kate 
hath  left  her  trouble  behind  her.  For 
the  manner  on 't  't  was  like  the  rest. 
Ah ;  such  as  she  saw  never  thirty, 
nor  ever  shall  while  earth  shall  last. 
She  smiled  in  pain  too.  A  well,  then, 
thus  'twas:  she  was  tookwi'  a  lan- 
guor and  a  loss  of  all  her  pains." 

"  A  loss  of  her  pains  "?  I  understand 
you  not." 

"  Ay,  you  are  not  experienced ;  in- 
deed, e'en  thy  mother  almost  blinded 
herself,  and  said,  '  'T  is  maybe  a 
change  for  the  better."  But  Joan 
Ketel,  which  is  an  understanding 
woman,  she  looked  at  her  and  whis- 
pered, '  Down  sun,  dovni  wind  !  ' 
And  the  gossips  sided  and  said,  '  Be 
brave,  you  that  are  her  mother,  for 
she  is  half-way  to  the  saints.'  And 
thy  mother  wept  sore,  but  Kate 
would  not  let  her ;  and  one  very  an- 
cient woman,  she  said  to  thy  mother, 
'  She  will  die  as  easy  as  she  lived 
hard.'  And  she  lay  painless  best  part 
of  three  days,  a  sipping  of  heaven 
aforehand.  And,  my  dear,  when  she 
was  just  parting,  she  asked  for  Ge- 
rard's little  boy,   and  I  brought  him 


414 


THK   CLOISTKK    ANI>   TIIK   UKAHTH. 


niul  sot  him  on  the  IxhI,  an<l  the   littlu 
tliiiij;  U  luiMil  111  |«'nri'al'lv  n-.  hi'  <l«.>«'s 
riuw.     liut  l>v  thit  tiiuc  .■>))<'  wiks  (MU>l 
ii|M)ikin^ :     but    »Uv    |M>iiitcil      tu    • 
ilniwiT,  and  her    iiiutht-r   kru-w  whnt  ' 
toluukfor:   it  wiui    two    pild    iuil' 
thuii    hndit    liivi'u     ht-r    years    h. 
l'(M)r  -xiul  !  sUv    liati    krjit    ihtiii    im 
tliiMi  ^h<>^lll|^t  <i>im-  hoini-.       Ami   "hf 
iiihIiIoI     tDwnnl.H    tin-  little   U>v,  un<l 
l«V)kiHl  luixioiit:  but  wv    unUi-nitiMxl 
hir,   nntl    i>iit    tlic   |>ii-<v*  in    hi<   two 
hnniN,  nntl,  whin    hi*    littlo    tinyfrt 
c-|o««'<l  on    thi'ni,  »h«'   smil<->l    rmiti-nt. 
Ami  M>    vli.  '        liltlc    rurthly 

tna-iin-^  t"  '  ■*   child. —  fi»r 

Mill  r/r/r    111  1  ■  fiml   hrr   im- 

mortal jfwcl  to  (mmI,  nmi  i«wM>d  ko 
tiwivtly  wi>  noni"  of  u<t  kmw  justlv 
when  'shf  lift  us.  Wclloday,  wcll- 
aday  !  " 

(ii-rard  wrpt. 

"  Shi"  hath  not  left  her  like  on 
earth, "  he  •lobU'^l.  "(),  how  tlie  nf- 
fcitiont  of  earth  curl  softly  round  my 
heart!  I  cannot  help  it :  (iod  made 
them  after  all.  Sj>eak  on.  swt^-t 
Mariraret ;  at  thy  vi>i«-e  the  nast  rolls 
in  tiili-s  Imek  upon  me  ;  the  loves  and 
the  ho|)es  of  youth  cume  fair  and  elid- 
ing in  my  ilark  rell,  and  darker  t>o- 
Rom,  on  waves  of  memory'  tuid  music." 

"  Gcranl.  1  am  loath  to  (nice  you, 
but  Kate  cried  a  little  when  she  first 
took  ill,  at  you  nut  being  there  to 
close  her  eyes." 

(lerard  sighed. 

"  You  Wire  within  a  league,  but 
liiil  your  face  from  lur." 

lie  tp'oaniil. 

"  Then*,  forjrivo  me  for  nagpinp  ;  I 
am  hut  a  woman  :  you  would  not 
have  l>ccn  so  cruel  to  your  own  flesh 
and  hloo<l  knowinplv,  would  vou  *  " 

••  <)  no." 

"  Well,  then,  know  that  thy  brother 
Sybrandt  lies  in  my  cliarp;  with  a 
broken  back,  fruit  of  thy  curse." 

"  Mca  culpa  !  mea  culpa  !  " 

"  lie  is  very  penitent ;  be  yourself 
and  forgive  him  this  ni;;ht !  " 

"  I  have  forjnven  liim  lonr;  apo." 

"Think  you   he  can   believe   that 


from  any  month  but  your*  1  Cornel 
he  i«  but  aUiut  two  butia'  len(;tb 
heiH-e." 

"  So  near  '     Why,  where  *  " 

"At  tiomla  manse.  I  took  him 
■  II.  For  I  know  you,  thu 
ine  colli  on  yiiurlips  when 
\  1.11  r.  I"  iiii  i|  It  "  (tier  I-  '  •  '  '  !  a»- 
>eiii).  "and  I  snnl  to    '  .ird 

\mI1  thank  me  for  taku  _  It  to 

ilie  under  hu  riNif ;  he  wili  not  licat 
his  breast  and  cry  mea  cul|>a,  ^ct 
icmilpe  thnv  fo«»tslei>s  toi{uieta  wjth- 
en-d  bntther  on  his  last  b««l.  Ho 
may  have  u  Ut-  in  his  Ixninet,  but  lie 
is  not  a  h_\|MH'rue,  a  tliinp  all  pioua 
words  and  urn  harilable  deeds." 

(Jerard  lileriilly  Ktapijenil,  where  h« 
sat,  at  this  tremendous  thrust. 

"  Foru'ive  mc  for  nappinjf,"  Mud 
she.  "  Thv  mother  tix)  i.s  waitinf; 
for  ihiT.  I*  it  well  done  to  kct-u  l.er 
on  thorns  so  lonp '  She  will  not 
sliscp  this  nipht.  liethink  thee,  (ic- 
mnl,  sht^'  is  aJl  to  thee  that  I  am  to 
this  swift  child.  Ah,  I  thiiik  so 
much  mor»"  of  mothers  nincc  I  had 
my  little  (fcranl.  She  suffered  for 
tluv,  anil  nurxil  th«  e  and  tendiil  the« 
from  lioy  to  man.  I'riest.  monk,  her- 
mit, call  tlivself  what  thou  wilt,  to 
her  thou  art  but  one  thing ;  her 
child." 

"  Where  is  she  '  "  murmurwl  Ge- 
rard, in  a  quavering  voice. 

"At  (touda  man.se,  wearing  the 
night  in  prayer  and  care." 

Then  Manrarct  Raw  the  time  was 
come  for  the  n|>j>eal  to  his  reason  she 
had  nuri>i>Mly  reserved  till  |>ersuasion 
should  nave  paved  the  way  for  con- 
viction. So  the  smith  first  softens 
the  iron  by  fire,  and  then  brings 
down  the  sliil;.'e-hammer. 

She  .showed  him,  but  in  her  own 
good  straiphtfonvard  Dutch,  that  his 
present  life  was  only  a  higher  kind 
of  selfishness  ;  spiritual  cjrotism. 
Whereas  a  priest  had  no  more  riplit 
to  care  only  for  his  own  soul  than 
only  for  his  own  boily.  That  was 
not  his  p:ith  to  Heaven.  '"  But," 
said  .•^lie,  "  wlio  ever  vet  lost  his    soul 


THE  CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


415 


by  saving  the  souls  of  others  1  The 
Almighty  loves  him  who  thinks  of 
others ;  and,  when  He  shall  see  thee 
caring  for  the  souls  of  the  folk  the 
duke  hath  put  into  thine  hand,  He 
will  care  ten  times  more  for  thy  soul 
than  He  does  now." 

Gerard  was  struck  by  this  remark. 
"  Art  shrewd  in  dispute,"  said  he. 

"  Far  from  it,"  was  the  reply, 
"  only  my  eyes  are  not  bandaged 
with  conceit.*  So  long  as  Satan 
walks  the  whole  earth,  tempting  men, 
and  so  long  as  the  sons  of  Belial  do 
never  lock  themselves  in  caves,  but 
run  like  ants,  to  and  fro,  corrupting 
others,  the  good  man  that  skulks 
apart  plays  the  Devil's  game,  or  at 
least  gives  him  the  odds :  thou  a 
soldier  of  Christ  1  ask  thy  comrade 
Denys,  who  is  but  a  soldier  of  the 
duke,  —  ask  him  if  ever  he  skulked  in 
a  hole  and  shunned  the  battle  because 
forsooth  in  battle  is  danger  as  well  as 
glor}-  and  duty.  For  thy  sole  excuse 
is  fear.  Thou  makest  no  secret  on  't. 
Go  to  ;  no  duke  nor  king  hath  such 
cowardly  soldiers  as  Christ  hath. 
What  was  that  you  said  in  the  church 
at  Rotterdam  about  the  man  in  the 
parable,  that  buried  liis  talent  in  the 
earth  and  so  offended  the  giver  ?  Thy 
wonderful  gift  for  preaching,  is  it  not 
a  talent,  and  a  gift  from  thy  Crea- 
tor ?  " 

"  Certes  ;  such  as  it  is." 

"  And  hast  thou  laid  it  out  ?  or 
buried  it  ?  To  whom  hast  thou 
preached  these  seven  months  ?  to  bats 
and  owls  ?  Hast  buried  it  in  one 
hole  with  thyself  and  thy  once  good 
wits  ■? 

"  The  Dominicans  are  the  friars 
preachers.  'T  is  for  preaching  they 
were  founded ;  so  thou  art  false  to 
Dominic  as  well  as  to  his  Master. 

"  Do  you  remember,  Gerard,  when 
we  were  young  together,  which  now 
are  old  before  our  time,  as  we  walked 
handed  in  the  fields,  did  you  but  see 
a  sheep  cast,  ay  three  fields  oft",  you 
would  leave  your  sweetheart  (by  her 
good-will),  and  run  and  lift  the  sheep 

*  I  think  she  means  prejudice. 
18* 


for  charity?  Well  then,  at  Gonda 
is  not  one  sheep  in  evil  plight,  but  a 
whole  fiock  ;  some  cast,  some  strayed, 
some  sick,  some  tainted,  some  a  be- 
ing devoured,  and  all  for  the  want 
of  a  shepherd.  Where  is  their  shep- 
herd ?  lurking  in  a  den,  like  a  wolf; 
a  den  in  his  own  parish,  out  fie  !  out 
fie! 

"  I  scented  thee  out,  in  part,  by  thy 
kindness  to  the  little  birds.  Take 
note,  you  Gerard  Eliassoen  must  love 
something,  't  is  in  your  blood.  You 
were  boni  to  't.  Shunning  man,  you 
do  but  seek  earthly  aflfection  a  peg 
lower  than  man." 

Gerard  interrupted  her.  "  The 
birds  arc  God's  creatures,  his  inno- 
cent creatures,  and  I  do  well  to  .ove 
them,  being  God's  creatures  !  " 

"  What,  are  they  creatures  of  the 
same  God  that  we  are,  that  he  is  who 
lies  upon  thy  knee  *" 

"  You  know  they  arc." 

"  Then  what  pretence  for  shun^ 
ning  us  and  being  kind  to  them  ? 
Sith  man  is  one  of  the  animals,  why 
pick  him  out  to  shun  ?  Is 't  because 
he  is  of  animals  the  paragon  ?  What, 
you  court  the  young  of  birds,  and 
abandon  your  own  young  ?  Birds 
need  but  bodily  food,  and,  having 
wings,  deserve  scant  pity  if  they  can- 
not fly  and  find  it.  But  that  sweet 
upon  thy  knee,  he  needeth  not  carnal 
only,  but  spiritual  food.  He  is  thine 
as  well  as  mine ;  and  I  have  done 
my  share.  He  will  soon  be  too  much 
for  me,  and  I  look  to  Gouda's  parson 
to  teach  him  true  piety  and  useful 
love.  Is  he  not  of  more  value  than 
many  sparrows  ?  " 

Gerard  started  and  stammered  an 
aflSrmation.  For  she  waited  for  his 
reply. 

"  You  wonder,"  continued  she, 
"  to  hear  me  quote  holy  writ  so  glib. 
I  have  pored  over  it  this  four  years, 
and  why  1  Not  because  God  wrote 
it,  but  because  I  saw  it  often  in  thy 
hands  ere  thou  didst  leave  me.  Heav- 
en forgive  me ;  I  am  but  a  woman. 
What  thinkest  thou  of  this  sentence  : 
'  Let  your  light  so  shine  before  men 


41 G 


Tin:  CLOISTHH   AND   THK   HKAKTII. 


that  they  may  noo  your  pHuI  works 
uml  t:l(>ri('\  >our  Fuihrr  Mliirh  in  in 
liiiiMii  '  '  Wliut  iit  n  Miiiit  in  n 
(iiiik  iK-tttT  tliati  '  u  li^ht  uniitT  a 
l>ui>iul '  t 

"  ThcTi-foiT.  xincf  tho  hlwvp  corn- 
luitla-d  lu  thy  rhur;.'«9  hlcut  fur  tho4- 
ami  «ry,  '  U,  (h?irrt  itt  n<>  hmpr,  hut 
t'Diiii*  to  (luuthi  iiitiiix'  '  :  hiiK'i-  I,  wlio 
know  thi-c  ten  tinuit  lictti-r  than  ihoii 
kuDWc^t  thvM-lf,  do  plcti^'c  my  soul  it 
i.s  fur  thy  huuI'm  weal  to  i;u  to  (ioucia 
iiian>r ;  iiinci*  duly  to  thy  child,  t(>t> 
luni;  iihandoncd,  callit  thei-  to  (inuda 
iniiiiv  ;  !iinc»'  thy  ■wivi-n-iifn  whom 
liolv  writ  nunin  l<i<li  thii-  honor 
Miid-t  tluv  to  Gondii  nuinio  ;  nincc 
thf  r«)|>c,  whonj  the  (hiinh  t4Ui'h«>s 
thfo  to  rrvfrr,  hiith  uhMdvrtl  tht-c  of 
(li>  monkish  vowi,  tind  urdi'n  thcc  to 
liomltt  niun.Hc  —  " 

••  Ah  !  " 

'•  Sinco  thv  iv^uy  hnirtHl  mulhrr 
wiitchft  for  tiu'e  in  doK-  and  cart", 
and  tiinu'th  oft  tin-  hour  ^laitA  and 
)>i;;hi'(li  Mirv  thai  thou  (-omrst  mi  itlow 
to  her  at  (tondn  mnnM!  ;  ninrc  thy 
ImitluT,  withiTid  hy  thy  iiirnc,  await* 
tliy  for^ivt-nt-Hs  and  thy  iirnycnt  for 
liiri  .M)iil,  now  lin^i-rinu  in  hi.i  UHly, 
at  (ioiitlii  nmn.-K',  —  take  thou  up  in 
tliinr  anus  tho  swwt  hinl  wi'  rn-st 
<it  ;;old  that  nestK":*  to  thy  Ui-om, 
ami  j;ivo  me  thy  hand  ;  thy  swcct- 
hiarl  fn<t  ami  wife,  and  now  thy 
frii-nd.  tho  tnicst  fritntl  to  thee  this 
ni^rlit  that  i\r  man  had  ;  and  cunie 
Willi  mo  to  (iouda  manso! 

"It  is  tho  voiio  of  an  anjjcl  ! " 
criod  I'loment,  loudly. 

"  Then  hearken  it,  and  come  forth 
to  (iouda  manse  !  " 

The  battle  waa  won. 

Marparrt  linjn^red  lichind,  cast  her 
eyes  nipidly  round  the  fiiniiturc, 
and  seli-cteil  the  Vul^'atc  and  the 
psaltery.  The  rest  she  sighed  at, 
and  let  it  lie.  The  brea.*tplatc  and 
the  eiliee  of  bristles  she  took  and 
dashed  with  feeble  ferocity  on  the 
flour.  Then,  seeinj;  Cierard  watrh 
her  with  surprise  from  the  outside, 
she  colored  and  said  :  "  1   am  bat  a 


I  woman  ;  '  little  '  will  ttill  be  '  ipitv 
ful.'" 

"  Why  encumber  thyself  with  tho«e? 

I  They  are  nafc." 

1      "  b,  nhe  had  a  reaMjn." 

And  with  thi.o  thoy  took  the  road  to 
(iouda  |>arM)nnp\  The  mo<jn  an<l 
sttan  were  sti  l)rit;ht,  it  .secmetl  almost 
at  lii;ht  an  day. 

Suddeiilv    (ierard    itlop)M'd.     "  My 

'  jioor  little  birdii !  " 
'•  What  of  them  ?  " 
"  They  will  mi.Hjt  their  food.     1  feed 

.  them  evorv  day." 

'  "  Tho  ciiild  Imth  a  piece  of  bread  in 
hi.i  cowl.  'I'ltki'  that  and  feed  tlicm 
now,  ai;ain.«t  the  morn." 

"  1  will.     Nay,  I  will  not.     lie  is 

'  an  inn<M-ent,  and  nearer  to  me  and  to 
thw." 

j      Mnr^'arrt     drew     a     lont;    breath. 

j  "  "r  i.H  well.      Und-t  taken  it,  I  miBhl 

'  hiive  hatetl  the«-  ;    I  am  but  a  woiniiu." 

When  they  had  cone  about  a  iiuar- 

ter  of  a  inih'.  (iernrd  sii;hcd.     "  Mar- 

caret,"  .taid  ho,  "  I  must  e'en  ri'sl ;  ho 

,  is  too  heavy  ftir  me." 

I  "  Then  ^ivr  him  mc,  and  take  thou 
thojM".  AliLt!  aln.t !  I  miiul  when 
thou  would>t  have  run  with  the  child 
on  one  iilioulder,  and  the  mother  on 
t'other." 

I      And  Margaret  carrie«l  the  boy. 

1      "  I    trow,"    said    lierard,    lookine 

'  ilown,  "  overmuch  fustiny  i.s  not  pood 
for  n  man." 

j      "  A  many  die  of  it  each  year,  win- 

/  ter-time,"  replietl  Marirnret. 

lierard  |x>ndere«l  these  simple  words, 
and  eyed  her  askant,  carrvin^  tho 
child  with  jierfect  ea.Hc,  When  they 
had  jjonf  nearly  a  mile,  lie  said,  with 
considerable  sur])risc :  "  You  thought 
it  wa.s  but  two  butts'  lenpth." 

"  W''hy,  yon  sai«l  so." 

"  That  is  another  matter."  She 
then  tumiHl  on  him  the  face  of  a  Ma- 
donna. "  I  lie<l,"  saifl  she,  swectlv. 
"  And,  to  save  your  soul  and  liody,  I  d 
maylic  tell  n  worse  lie  than  iliaf,  at 
need.  I  am  but  a  woman.  Ah,  well, 
it  is  but  two  butt^'  length  from  here 
at  an  J  rate." 


THE  CLOISTER   AND  THE  HEARTH. 


417 


"  Without  a  lie  1 " 

"  Humph  ?     Three,  without  a  lie." 

And,  sure  enough,  in  a  few  minutes 
vhey  came  up  to  tlie  manse. 

A  candle  was  burning  in  the  vicar's 
parlor.  "  She  is  waking  still,"  whis- 
pered Margaret. 

"  Beautiful,  beautiful !  "  said  Clem- 
ent, and  stopped  to  look  at  it. 

"  What,  in  heaven's  name?  " 

"  That  little  candle,  seen  through 
the  window  at  night.  Look,  an  it  be 
not  like  some  fair  star  of  size  pro- 
digious ;  it  delightcth  the  eyes  and 
warmeth  the  heart  of  those  outside." 

"  Come,  and  I  'II  show  thee  some- 
thing better,"  said  Margaret,  and  led 
him  on  tiptoe  to  the  window. 

They  looked  in,  and  there  was 
Catherine  kneeling  on  the  hassock, 
with  her  "  hours"  before  her. 

"  Folk  can  pray  out  of  a  cave," 
whispered  Margaret.  "  Ay,  and  hit 
heaven  with  their  prayers.  For  't  is 
for  a  sight  of  thee  she  prayeth  ;  and 
thou  art  here.  Now,  Gerai-d,  be  pre- 
pared ;  she  is  not  the  woman  you 
knew  her;  her  children's  troubles 
have  greatly  broken  the  brisk,  light- 
hearted  soul.  And  I  see  she  has  been 
weeping  e'en  now  ;  she  will  have  giv- 
en thee  up,  being  so  late." 

"  Let  me  get  to  her,"  said  Clement, 
hastily,  trembling  all  over. 

"  That  door  !     I  will  bide  here." 

When  Gerard  was  gone  to  the  door, 
Margaret,  fearing  the  sudden  surprise, 
gave  one  sharp  tap  at  the  window,  and 
cried,  "  Mother  !  "  in  a  loud,  expres- 
sive voice  that  Catherine  read  at  once. 
She  clasped  her  hands  together  and 
had  half  risen  from  her  kneeling  pos- 
ture, when  the  door  burst  open  and 
Clement  flung  himself  wildly  on  his 
knees  at  her  knees,  with  his  arms  out 
to  embrace  her.  She  uttered  a  cry 
such  as  only  a  mother  could.  "  Ah  ! 
my  darling,  my  darling ! "  And 
clung  sobbing  round  his  neck.  And 
true  it  was  she  saw  neither  a  hermit, 
a  priest,  nor  a  monk,  but  just  her 
child,  lost,  and  despaired  of,  and  in 
her  arms.  And  after  a  little  while 
Margaret  came  in,  with  wet  eyes  and 


cheeks,  and  a  holy  calm  of  affection 
settled  by  degrees  on  these  sore  troub- 
led ones.  And  they  sat  all  three  to- 
gether, hand  in  hand,  murmuring 
sweet  and  loving  converse ;  and  he  who 
satin  the  middle  drank,  right  and  left, 
their  true  affection  and  their  humble 
but  genuine  wisdom,  and  was  forced  to 
eat  a  good  nourishing  meal,  and  at 
daybreak  was  packed  off  to  a  snowy 
bed,  and  by  and  by  awoke,  as  from  a 
hideous  dream,  friar  and  hermit  no 
more,  Clement  no  more,  but  Gerard 
Eliassoen,  parson  of  Gouda. 


CHAPTER  XCVr 

Margaret  went  back  to  Rotter- 
dam long  ere  Gerard  awoke,  and  act- 
ually left  her  boy  behindher.  She  sent 
the  faithful,  sturdy  Richt  off  to  Gou- 
da directly  with  a  vicar's  gray  frock 
and  large  felt  hat,  and  with  minute 
instructions  how  to  govern  her  new 
master. 

Then  she  went  to  Jorian  Ketel ; 
for  she  said  to  herself,  "  He  is  the 
closest  I  ever  met,  so  he  is  the  man 
for  me,"  and  in  concert  with  him 
she  did  two  mortal  sly  things ;  yet 
not,  in  my  opinion,  virulent,  though 
she  thought  they  were ;  but,  if  I  am 
asked  what  M'ere  these  deeds  \vithout 
a  name,  the  answer  is,  that  as  she, 
who  was  "  but  a  woman,"  kept  them 
secret  till  her  dying  day,  I  who  am  a 
man,  —  "  Verbum  non  amplius  ad- 
dam." 

She  kept  away  from  Gouda  parson- 
age. 

Things  that  pass  little  noticed  in 
the  heat  of  argument  sometimes  ran- 
kle afterwards ;  and,  when  she  came 
to  go  over  all  that  had  passed,  she 
was  offended  at  Gerard's  thinking  she 
could  ever  forget  the  priest  in  the 
sometime  lover.  "  For  what  did  he 
take  me  1  "  said  she.  And  this  raised 
a  great  shj-ness  which  really  she  would 
not  otherwise  have  felt,  being  down- 
right iniiocent.     And  pride  sided  with 


418 


MIL   CLOISTER   AND  THK   HKARTH. 


nitMlivstv,  un<l  whi.s[)»'n>»l,  "  Go  no  more  I 
to  (ftimlii  |iiipn)nam'. "  ' 

Sill-  li  It  littli-  (icrnnl  thrn-  to  com-  j 
pl»t<"  tlie  ioiii|iifr.t  l.iT  tiiiitcrnul  lit-nrt  ! 
iiscrilivd  to  him,  not  to  Iut  own  cli>-  ' 
<|iu-nc-e  nnil  sn^ciuity ;  anil  to  anchor  j 
hJH  tuthi-r  fon-vtT  to  huumnity. 

But  thi.H  piuTous  Mlrukf  of  |»ohrv 
TO'*!  hiT  hriirt  ilt'ur.  Shi-  hiui  nf>«T 
vft  hwn  parliil  fmm  her  boy  an 
iioiir;  nnil  sUv  t'lil  ^aiily  nlran;:^  a-t 
well  tm  (Ji-iiulnic  without  him.  After 
the  lirst  (lay  it  Ufumc  intolcrahlt- ; 
Hint  what  «lo»>«  the  iwior  "onl  dn  luit 
iTii'p  lit  ilurk  ni)  to  (lon'i  i_-c, 

ntnl    lurk    aUiut   thr  pr  u 

thief  till  >he  huw  Uitht  li-  ■ .,-  -  ...  the 
kitchen  alone.  Then  she  tii|i|K'><|  >M»ft- 
ly  at  tlie  wiiuiow,  and  itaiil,  "  Hicht,  ; 
tor  |*ity'!«  Hake,  hrih;;  liim  out  to  me 
unU'known."  With  .Margaret  the 
{icnton  who  otvupietl  hrr  tliuu^hti  at 
the  time  cniMtl  to  have  a  iwuiie,  and 
sank  to  a  pnxioun. 

Uiilit  soon  foun<l  an  cxcus<«  for 
takini;  tittle  (ieranl  out,  ami  lliere 
W!w  a  scene  of  mutual  rapture  ;  fol- 
lowed hy  mutual  tears  when  mother 
and  t)oy  parte<l  ai;ain. 

And  it  WAS  arranged  that  Richt 
should  take  liim  half-way  to  Hotter- 
dam  evert-  day,  at  a  set  liour,  and 
Marparet  meet  them.  Anil  at  the!«e 
miftinpi*.  alter  the  rttptun.«s,  and  af- 
ter mother  and  child  liad  i;amlM>|le<l 
toi;ether  tike  a  yotmi;  cat  anil  her 
tir><t  kitten,  the  tioy  would  ."iometimes 
amuse  liim^rlf  alone  at  their  feet,  and 
tlie  two  wotncn  penenilly  sei/.isl  this 
opportunity  to  talk  verv  .seriuu.sty 
aliont  Luiic  Peterson,  'fhis  began 
thus :  — 

"  Hicht,"    said    Marparet,    "  I   as  ' 
poJHl  as  promised  him  to  murry  Luke 
I'cterson.       '  Sav     you     the     word,' 
(}ui>ih  I,  'and  I   II  wed  him.'" 

"  I'oor  Luke  !  " 

"  rrithcc,  why  f)oor  Luke  ?  " 

"  To  l»e  bandied  about  so,  atwixt 
yea  ami  nay." 

"  Why,  Richt,  you  have  not   over 
been  so  simjile  ivs  to  ca.st  an  eye  of  af-  ' 
fi-ction  on  tne   boy,  that  you  take  his  [ 
part » "  '  I 


"  Me  '  "  said  Richt,  with  a  to«s 
of  the  head. 

"  <>,  I  tt.sk  your  pardon.  Well, 
then,  you  ean  do  me  a  pmxl  turn." 

"Whist!  wlii.s}H-r  !  ttiat  little  d*r- 
tinp  is  li.stenins  tu  every  word,  and 
e_\e.s  like  Miuit-m." 

( >n  this  Uith  their  heads  would 
have  pone  under  one  cap. 

'I'wu  women  plottinp  apaiiut  one 
lioy  •  U  you  ;;rettt  cowardly  scr- 
|M.'nt.s  ! 

Hut.  wlien  these  stolen  meclinf^ 
bad  pone  on  alxtut  live  ilays.  Mar- 
pant  iH-pan  to  fe«|  the  injustice  of  it, 
and  to  l>c  irritated  as  well  as  unhap- 
P.v- 

And  she  was  cryinp  alwiit  it,  when 
a  cart  came  to  her  d(M>r,  and  in  it, 
clean  as  a  new  ponnv,  his  lieanl  close 
shaveil,  his  hanils  white  as  snow,  and 
a  little  color  in  his  pale  face,  .sat  the 
vicar  of  (fouda  in  the  pray  fn>ck  and 
larpe  felt  hat  she  liad  .s<>iit  him. 

Slie  ran  up  stairs  directly,  and 
washed  away  all  trace  of  tears,  and 
put  on  a  cat),  which,  l>einp  just  taken 
out  of  the  drawer,  was  cleaner,  theo- 
retically, than  the  one  she  had  on ; 
and  came  down  to  hitn. 

He  seized  lM>th  tier  hands  and 
kisseil  them,  and  a  tear  fell  u|>on 
them.  Slie  turned  her  head  away  at 
that  to  hiile  her  own  which  starti^l. 

"  My  swi-et  Marpan-t,"  he  crieil, 
"  why  is  this  ?  Why  hold  you  aloof 
from  your  own  p<m«1  dec»l  ?  wc  have 
Urn  waitinp  and  waitinp  for  you 
everv  day,  and  no  Marparet." 

"  Von  said  thinps." 

"  What !  when  I  was  a  hermit  and 
a  donkey." 

"  Ay  !  no  matter,  you  saitl  thinps. 
And  vou  had  no  reason." 

"  l-'orpct  all  I  said  there.  Who 
hearkens  the  ravinps  of  a  maniac  1 
for  I  «oe  now  that  in  a  few  months 
more  I  should  have  been  a  pibl)crinp 
idiot.  Yet  no  mortal  could  have  per- 
suaded mc  aw.iv  but  you.  O,  what 
an  outlay  of  wit  ami  pfx-dness  was 
yours.  But  it  is  not  hen;  I  can  thank 
and  bless  you  as  1  ought;  no,  it  is  in 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


419 


the  home  vou  have  given  me,  among 
the  sheep  whose  shepherd  you  have 
made  me  ;  ah-eady  1  love  them  dearly, 
there  it  is  I  must  thank  '  the  truest 
friend  ever  man  had.'  So  now  I  say 
to  you  as  erst  you  said  to  me,  come 
to  Gouda  manse." 

"  Humph  !  we  will  see  about  that." 

"  Why,  Margaret,  think  you  I  had 
ever  kept  the  dear  child  so  long,  but 
that  I  made  sure  you  would  be  back 
to  him  from  day  to  day  f  O,  he  curls 
round  my  very  heart-strings ;  but 
what  is  my  title  to  him  compared  to 
thine  ?  Confess  now,  thou  hast  had 
hard  thoughts  of  me  for  this." 

"  Nay,  nay,  not  I.  Ah  !  thou  art 
thy^self  again  ;  wast  ever  thoughtful 
of  others.  I  have  half  a  mind  to  go  to 
Gouda  manse,  for  your  saying  that." 

"  Come  then  Avith  half  thy  mind, 
't  is  worth  the  whole  of  other  folk's." 

"  Well,  I  dare  say  I  will ;  but  there 
is  no  such  mighty  hurry,"  said  she 
coolly  (she  was  literally  burning  to 
go).  "  Tell  me  first  how  you  agree 
with  your  folk." 

"  Why,  already  my  poor  have 
taken  root  in  my  heart" 

"  I  thought  as  much." 

"  And  there  are  such  good  crea- 
tures among  them ;  simple,  and 
rough,  and  superstitious,  but  wonder- 
fully good." 

"  O,  leave  you  alone  for  seeing  a 
grain  of  good  among  a  bushel  of  ill." 

"  Whisht ;  whisht !  And,  Mar- 
garet, two  of  them  have  been  ill 
friends  for  four  years,  and  came  to 
the  manse  each  to  get  on  my  blind 
side.  But,  give  the  glory  to  God,  I 
got  on  their  bright  side,  and  made 
them  friends  and  laugh  at  themselves 
for  their  folly." 

"But  are  you  in  very  deed  their 
vicar  ?  answer  me  that." 

"  Ccrtes  :  have  I  not  been  to  the 
bishop's  and  taken  the  oath,  and  rung 
the  church  bell,  and  touched  the  altar, 
the  missal,  and  the  holy  cup,  before 
the  churchwardens  ?  And  they  have 
handed  me  the  parish  seal ;  see,  here 
it  is.  Nay  't  is  a  real  vicar,  inviting  a 
true  friend  to  Gouda  manse." 


"  Then  my  mind  is  at  case.  Tell 
me  oceans  more." 

"  Well,  sweet  one,  nearest  to  me  of 
all  my  parish  is  a  poor  cripple  that 
my  guardian  angel  and  his  (her  name 
thou  knowest  even  by  this  turning  of 
thy  head  away)  hath  placed  beneath 
my  roof.  Sybrandt  and  I  are  that 
we  never  were  till  now,  brothers. 
'T  would  gladden  thee,  yet  sadden 
thee,  to  hear  how  we  kissed  and  for- 
gave one  another.  He  is  full  of  thy 
praises,  and  wholly  in  a  pious  mind  ; 
he  says  he  is  happier  since  his  trouble 
than  e'er  he  was  in  the  days  of  his 
strength.  O,  out  of  my  house  he 
ne'er  shall  go  to  any  place  but 
heaven." 

"  Tell  me  somewhat  that  happened 
thyself,  poor  soul !  All  this  is  good, 
but  yet  no  tidings  to  me.  Do  1  not 
know  thee  of  old  ?  " 

"  Well,  let  mc  see.  At  first  I  was 
much  dazzled  by  the  sunlight,  and 
could  not  go  abroad  (owl !)  ;  but  that 
is  past  ;  and  good  Kicht  Heyncs  — 
humph ! " 

"  What  of  her  ?  " 

"  This  to  thine  ear  only,  for  she  is 
a  diamond.  Her  voice  goes  through 
me  like  a  knife,  and  all  voices  seem 
loud  but  thine,  which  is  so  mellow 
sweet.  Stay,  now  I  '11  fit  ye  with  tid- 
ings ;  I  spake  yesterday  with  an  old 
man  that  conceits  he  is  ill-tempered, 
and  sweats  to  pass  for  such  with  oth- 
ers, but  O,  so  tlireadbare,  and  the 
best  good  heart  beneath." 

"  Why,  't  is  a  parish  of  angels,"  said 
Margaret,  ironically. 

"  Then  why  dost  thou  keep  out 
on  't  ?  "  retorted  Gerard.  "  Well,  he 
was  telling  me  there  was  no  parish  in 
Holland  where  the  Devil  hath  such 
power  as  at  Gouda ;  and  among  his 
instances,  says  he,  we  had  a  hermit, 
the  holiest  in  Holland ;  but,  being 
Gouda,  the  Devil  came  for  him  this 
week,  and  took  him,  bag  and  bag- 
gage ;  not  a  ha'porth  of  him  left  but 
a  goodish  piece  of  his  skin,  just  for  all 
the  world  like  a  hedgehog's,  and  a 
piece  o'  old  iron  furbished  up." 

Margaret  smiled. 


420 


THE  CLOISTEU   AND  THK   HKAHTH. 


"  Av,  but,"  continiK'tl  Gcrnrd,  "  the 

straiip-'  thiiij:  is,  ilu-  cave  has  verily 
fallen  in  ;  and  had  1  liteii  so  juTversc 
as  ri'sist  tlicr,  it  liail  lus.sureilly  Imrird 
ine  (It-ad  tlurr  wIrtl-  1  liad  Imried 
myself  alive,  'riicrefore  in  this  I  sec 
the  tin;;er  of  Providence,  eondeninin;; 
niv  late,  approving;  my  present  way 
of  life.     What  savest  thou  ?  " 

"  Nav,  can  1  jnerce  the  like  myste- 
ries ?  1  atn  hut  a  woman." 

"  Somewhat  more,  mcthinks.  This 
very  tale  i)roves  thee  my  ^'uardiaii  an- 
f,'eli  and  all  else  avouches  it  ;  .so  come 
to  Gouda  nian.sc." 

"  Well,  p)  you  on  ;  I  '11  follow." 

"  Nay,  in  the  cart  with  me." 

"  Not  so." 

"  Why  : " 

"  Can  I  tell  why  and  wherefore,  bc- 
iii;j  a  woman  ?  All  1  know  i.s  I  seem 
—  to  feel  —  to  wish  —  to  come  alone." 

"  So  1)C  it  then.  I  leave  thee  the 
cart,  l)ein(;,  as  thou  say  est,  a  woman, 
ami  I  'II  t,'o  afoot  iKini;  a  man  a^ain, 
with  the  joyful  tidings  of  thy  coin- 
in;;." 

When  Marjjaa-t  reached  the  manse, 
the  first  thing  she  saw  was  the  two 
(Jerards  together,  the  .son  jierl'orming 
his  capriccios  on  the  plot,  anil  the  fa- 
ther .slouching  on  u  chair,  in  his  great 
hat,  with  |Hticil  and  pain-r,  trying 
very  patiently  to  .sketch  him. 

After  a  warm  wclcomt-,  he  showeil 
her  his  attempts.  •'  Hut  in  vain  I 
strive  to  fix  him,"  said  he  "  for  he  is  in- 
carnate ([uicksilvir.  Yet  do  hut  note 
his  changes,  intinite,  but  none  ungra- 
cious ;  all  is  su]i|)le  an<l  ciusv ;  and 
liow  he  melteth  from  one  posture  to 
another."  lie  added  j)resently  :  "  Woe 
to  illuminators  !  looking  on  thee,  sir 
baby,  I  sec  what  awkward,  lopsided, 
ungainly  toads  I  and  my  fellows 
painted  missals  with,  and  called  then 
cherubs  and  seraphs."  Finally  he 
threw  the  paper  away  in  despair,  and 
Margaret  conveyed  it  secretly  into 
her  bosom. 

At  night,  when  they  sat  round  the 
peat  tire,  he  bade  them  observe  how- 
beautiful  the  brass  candlesticks  and 
Other  glittering   metals  were  in   the 


glow  from  the  hearth.  Cutherine'i 
eyes  spurkleii  at  this  observation. 
••'Ami  (>,  tin-  shwts  I  lie  in  here!" 
said  lif,  "  oltcn  my  j-oiiM-ience  prick- 
ith  me  and  saith,  '  Who  art  thou  to 
lie  in  lint  like  web  of  snow  t ' 
Dive.s  wa-s  ne'er  so  Haxed  as  I.  And 
to  think  that  there  are  folk  in  tho 
world  that  have  all  the  Uautiful 
things  which  1  have  here,  yet  not  con- 
tent. Ixt  them  pa.ss  si.\  months  in  a 
hermit's  cell,  .string  no  face  of  man, 
then  will  they  tind  how  lovely  and 
pleasant  this  wicked  worltl  is  ;  and 
eke  that  men  and  women  are  God's 
fairest  creatures.  Margaret  waa  al- 
ways fair  ;  but  never  to  my  eye  -so 
bright  a.s  now."  Margaret  shook  her 
head,  incredulously.  Gerard  contin- 
ued. ■•  .My  mother  was  evtr  good 
and  kind,  but  I  noted  not  her  exceed- 
ing comeline-ss  till  now." 

"Nor  1  neither,"  said  Catherine; 
"  a  score  years  ago  I  might  pass  in  a 
crowil,  but  not  now." 

Genird  declared  to  her  tliat  each 
age  had  its  k-auty.  "  See  this  mild 
gray  eye,"  said  he,  "  that  hath  UK>ked 
motherly  love  u|M)n  so  manv  of  us; 
all  that  love  hath  left  its  .shadow,  and 
that  shadow  is  a  iM'aiity  which  defieth 
Time.  St-e  this  delicate  lip,  these 
pure  white  ta-th.  See  this  well- 
slia|H-d  i)row  where  comeliness  just 
passeth  into  reverence.  Art  U-autiful 
in  my  eyes,  mother  dear." 

"  And  that  is  enough  for  me.  my 
darling.  'T  is  time  you  were  in  In-d. 
child.    Vou  have  to  jircaeh  tln'  mom." 

Anil  Uieht  Heynes  and  Catherine 
intenhanged  a  look  which  said,  "  Wo 
two  have  an  amiable  maniac  to  super- 
intend ;  calls  everything  U-autiful." 

The  next  day  was  Sunday  :  and 
they  heard  him  jireach  in  liis  own 
church.  It  was  crammed  with  ])er- 
son.s,  who  came  curious,  but  remained 
devout.  Never  was  his  wonderful 
gift  displayed  more  [M)werfully  ;  he 
was  himself  deeply  moved  by  the  first 
sight  of  all  his  peojile,  and  his  bowels 
yeanied  over  this  tiock  he  had  so  long 
neglected.  In  a  single  sermon,  w  hich 
lasted  two  hours  and  seemed  to  last 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


421 


but  twenty  minutes,  he  declared  the 
whole  scripture  ;  he  tcrritied  the  im- 
penitent and  thoughtless,  confirmed 
the  wavering,  consoled  the  bereaved 
and  the  afflicted,  uplifted  the  hearts  of 
the  poor,  and,  when  he  ended,  left  the 
multitudes  standing,  rapt,  and  unwill- 
ing to  believe  the  divine  music  of  his 
voice  and  soul  had  ceased. 

Need  I  say  that  two  poor  women  in 
a  corner  sat  entranced,  with  streaming 
eyes  ? 

"  Where  ever  gat  he  it  all  ?  "  whis- 
pered Catherine,  with  her  apron  to 
her  eyes.  "By  our  Lady,  not  from 
me." 

As  soon  as  they  were  by  them- 
selves, Margaret  threw  her  arms 
round  Catherine's  neck  and  kissed 
her. 

"  Mother,  mother,  I  am  not  quite 
a  happy  woman,  but  0,  I  am  a  proud 
one." 

And  she  vowed  on  her  knees  never 
by  word  or  deed  to  let  her  love  come 
between  this  young  saint  and  heaven. 

Reader,  did  you  ever  stand  by  the 
sea-shore  after  a  storm,  when  the 
wind  happens  to  have  gone  down  sud- 
denly ■?  The  waves  cannot  cease  with 
their  cause ;  indeed,  they  seem  at  first 
to  the  ear  to  lash  the  sounding  shore 
more  fiercely  than  while  the  wind 
blew.  Still  we  are  conscious  that  in- 
evitable calm  has  begun,  and  is  now 
but  rocking  them  to  sleep.  So  it  was 
with  those  true  and  tempest-tossed 
lovers  from  that  eventful  night  when 
they  went  hand  in  hand  beneath  the 
stars  from  Gouda  hermitage  to  Gou- 
da  manse. 

At  times  a  loud  wave  would  every 
now  and  then  come  roaring;  but  it 
was  only  memory's  echo  of  the  tem- 
pest that  had  swept  their  lives  ;  the 
storm  itself  was  over ;  and  the  boil- 
ing waters  began  from  that  moment 
to  go  down,  down,  down,  gently,  but 
inevitably. 

This  image  is  to  supply  the  place 
of  interminable  details,  that  would  be 
tedious  and  tame.  What  best  merits 
attention  at  present  is  the  general 
situation,  and  the  strange  complication 


of  feeling  that  arose  from  it.  History 
itself,  though  a  far  more  daring  story- 
teller than  romance,  presents  few 
things  so  strange  *  as  the  footing  on 
which  Gerard  and  Margaret  now 
lived  for  many  years.  United  by 
present  affection,  past  familiarity,  and 
a  marriage  irregular,  but  legal ;  sepa- 
rated by  Holy  Church,  and  by  their 
own  consciences,  which  sided  unre- 
servedly with  Holy  Church ;  sepa- 
rated by  the  Church,  but  united  by  a 
living  pledge  of  affection,  lawful  in 
every  sense  at  its  date. 

And  living  but  a  few  miles  from 
one  another,  and  she  calling  his 
mother  "mother."  For  some  years 
she  always  took  her  boy  to  Gouda  on 
Sunday,  returning  home  at  dark.  Go 
when  she  would,  it  was  always  fete 
at  Gouda  manse,  and  she  was  received 
like  a  little  queen.  Catherine,  in 
these  days,  was  nearly  always  with 
her,  and  Eli  very  often.  Tergou  had 
so  little  to  tempt  them,  compared  with 
Rotterdam  ;  and  at  last  they  left  it 
altogether,  and  set  up  in  the  capital. 

And  thus  the  years  glided :  so  bar- 
ren now  of  Striking  incidents,  so  void 
of  great  hopes,  and  free  from  great 
fears,  and  so  like  one  another,  that 
without  the  help  of  dates  I  could 
scarcely  indicate  the  progress  of 
time. 

However,  early  next  year,  1471, 
the  Duchess  of  Burgundy,  with  the 
open  dissent,  but  secret  connivance  of 
the  duke,  raised  forces  to  enable  her 
dethroned  brother,  Edward  the  Fourth 
of  England,  to  invade  that  kingdom ; 
ourold  friend  Denys  thus  enlisted,  and, 
passing  through  Rotterdam  to  the 
ships,  heard  on  his  way  that  Gerard 

*  Let  me  not  be  understood  to  apply  this  to 
the  bare  outline  of  the  relation.  Many  bish- 
ops and  priests,  and  not  a  few  popes,  had 
wives  and  children  as  laymen  ;  and,  entering 
orders,  were  parted  from  the  wives  and  not 
from  the  children.  But  in  the  case  before 
the  reader  are  the  additional  features  of  a 
strong  surviving  attachment  on  both  sides, 
and  of  neighborhood,  besides  that  here  the 
man  had  been  led  into  holy  orders  by  a  false 
statement  of  the  woman's  death.  On  a  sum* 
mary  of  all  the  essential  features,  the  situatiou 
was,  to  the  best  of  my  belief,  unique. 


422 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   TIIK   HEARTH. 


was  a  priest  and  Margaret  alone.  On 
this  he  told  Mar;:arct  tliat  marriaj,'C 
was  not  a  habit  of  his,  but  that,  as  his 
comrade  had  put  it  out  of  his  own 
power  to  keep  troth,  he  felt  bound  to 
offer  to  keep  it  for  him  ;  "  for  a  com- 
rade's honor  is  dear  to  us  as  our 
own,"  said  he. 

She  stared,  then  smiled.  "  I  choose 
rather  to  be  still  thy  she-comrade," 
said  she;  "closer  acciuaintcd  we 
might  not  agree  so  well."  And  in 
her  character  of  she -comrade  she 
equipped  him  with  a  new  sword  of 
Antwerp  make,  and  a  double  handful 
of  silver.  "  I  give  thee  no  gold,"  said 
she  :  "  for  't  is  thrown  away  as  quick 
as  silver,  and  harder  to  win  back. 
Heaven  send  thee  safe  out  of  all  thy 
perils ;  there  be  famous  fair  women 
yonder  to  l)eguilc  thee  with  their 
faces,  as  well  as  men  to  hash  thee 
with  their  axes." 

He  was  liurricd  on  board  at  La 
Vere,  and  never  saw  Gerard  at  that 
time. 

In  147.3,  Sybrandt  began  to  fail. 
His  pitiable  existence  had  been  sweet- 
ened by  his  brother's  inventive  ten- 
derness, and  his  own  contented  spirit, 
which,  his  antecedents  considered,  was 
truly  remarkable.  As  for  Gerard, 
the  day  never  passed  that  he  did  not 
devote  two  hours  to  him  ;  reading  or 
singing  to  him,  praying  with  iiim,  and 
drawing  him  about  in  a  soft  carri:ige 
Margaret  and  he  had  made  between 
them.  "When  the  poor  soul  found 
his  end  near,  he  begged  Margaret 
might  be  sent  for  ;  she  came  at  once, 
and  almost  with  his  last  breath  he 
sought  once  more  that  forgiveness  she 
had  long  ago  accorded.  She  remained 
by  him  till  the  last ;  and  he  died  bless- 
ing and  blessed,  in  the  arms  of  the 
two  true  lovers  he  had  i)arted  for  life. 
Tantum  religio  scit  suadere  boni. 

In  1474  there  was  a  wedding  in 
Margaret's  house.  Luke  Teterson 
and  Richt  Heynes. 

This  may  seem  less  strange  if  I 
give  the  purport  of  the  dialogue  in- 
terrupted some  time  back. 

Margaret  went  on  to  say.    'Then 


in  that  ca.sc  you  can  easily  make  hira 
fancy  you,  and  for  my  sake  you  must, 
for  my  conscience  it  pricket li  me,  and 
I  must  needs  tit  him  with  a  wife,  the 
Ust  I  know."  Margaret  then  in- 
structed Kicht  to  i>e  always  kind  and 
good-iiumorcd  to  Luke ;  and  she 
would  Ik.'  a  model  of  jH-evishncss  to 
him.  "  But  bo  not  thou  so  siiniile  as 
to  run  me  down,"  said  she.  "  Leave 
that  to  me.  Make  thou  excuses  for 
me  ;  I  will  make  myself  lilack  enow." 

Kicht  received  the.>ie  in>tructions 
like  an  order  to  sweeji  a  room,  and 
obeved  them  j)unctually. 

\V'hcn  they  had  subjected  poor 
Luke  to  this  double  ariillcrv  lor  a 
couple  of  years,  he  got  to  look  u]>on 
Margaret  as  his  fog  and  wind,  and 
IJiilit  as  his  sunshine  ;  and  his  art'i-c- 
tions  transferred  themselves,  and  ho 
scarc'c  knew  how  or  when. 

On  the  wedding  day  Uicht  cm- 
braced  Margaret  and  thanked  her 
almost  with  tears.  "  He  was  always 
my  fancy,"  said  she,  "  from  the  first 
hour  I  dapjK'd  eyes  on  him." 

"  Heyday,  you  never  told  mc  that. 
What,  Kicht,  are  you  as  sly  as  the 
rest  ?  " 

"  Nay,  nay,"  said  Kicht,  eagerly  ; 
"  but  I  never  thought  you  would  real- 
ly part  with  him  to  me.  In  my 
country  the  mistress  looks  to  be  scr%ed 
before  the  maid." 

Margaret  settled  them  in  her  shop, 
and  gave  them  half  the  profits. 

1476  and  7  were  years  of  great 
trouble  to  Gerard,  whose  conscience 
compelled  him  to  oppt>se  the  pope. 
His  Holiness,  siding  with  the  Gray 
Friars  in  their  determination  to 
swamp  every  })alpable  distinction  be- 
tween the  Virgin  Mary  and  her  Son, 
bribed  the  Christian  world  into  his 
crotchet  by  proffering  pardon  of  all 
sins  to  such  as  would  adtl  to  the  Ave 
Mary  this  clause,  "  and  bUssed  be  thy 
Mother  Anna,  from  whom,  without 
blot  of  original  sin,  proceeded  thy 
virgin  flesh." 

Gerard,  in  common  with  many  of 
the  northern  clergy,  held  this  sen- 
tence to  be  flat  heresy  ;  he  not  only 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


423 


refused  to  utter  it  in  his  church, 
but  warned  his  parishioners  against 
using  it  in  private  ;  and  he  refused  to 
celebrate  the  new  feast  the  pope  in- 
vented at  the  same  time,  viz.,  "  the 
feast  of  the  miraculous  conception  of 
the  Virgin." 

But  this  drew  upon  him  the  bitter 
enmity  of  the  Franciscans,  and  they 
were  strong  enough  to  put  him  into 
more  than  one  serious  difficulty,  and 
inflict  many  a  little  mortification  on 
him. 

In  emergencies  he  consulted  Mar- 
garet, and  she  always  did  one  of  two 
things  :  either  she  said,  "  I  do  not  see 
my  way,"  and  refused  to  guess ;  or 
else  she  gave  him  advice  that  proved 
wonderfully  sagacious.  He  had  ge- 
nius ;  but  she  had  manellous  tact. 

And  where  affection  came  in  and 
annihilated  the  woman's  judgment,  he 
stepped  in  his  turn  to  her  aid.  Thus, 
though  she  knew  she  was  spoiling  lit- 
tle Gerard,  and  Catherine  was  ruin- 
ing him  for  life,  she  would  not  part 
with  him,  but  kept  him  at  home,  and 
his  abilities  uncultivated.  And  there 
was  a  shrewd  boy  of  nine  years,  in- 
stead of  learning  to  work  and  obey, 
playing  about  and  learning  selfishness 
from  their  infinite  unselfishness,  and 
tyrannizing  with  a  rod  of  iron  over  two 
women,  both  of  them  sagacious  and 
spirited,  but  reduced  by  their  fondness 
for  him  to  the  exact  level  of  idiots. 

Gerard  saw  this  with  pain,  and  in- 
terfei'ed  with  mild  but  firm  remon- 
strance ;  and  after  a  considerable 
struggle  prevailed,  and  got  little  Ge- 
rard sent  to  the  best  school  in  Europe, 
kept  by  one  Haaghe  at  Deventer  : 
this  was  in  1477.  Many  tears  were 
shed,  but  the  great  progress  the  boy 
made  at  that  famous  school  reconciled 
Margaret  in  some  degree,  and  the  fi- 
delity of  Riclit  He}Ties,  now  her  part- 
ner in  business,  enabled  her  to  spend 
weeks  at  a  time  hovering  over  her  boy 
at  Deventer. 

And  so  the  ye.irs  glided  ;  and  these 
two  persons,  subjected  to  as  strong 
and  constant  a  temptation  as  can  well 
be  conceived,  were  each  other's  guar- 


dian angels ;  and  not  each  other's 
tempters. 

To  be  sure  the  well-greased  moral- 
ity of  the  next  century-,  which  taught 
that  solemn  vows  to  God  are  sacred 
in  proportion  as  they  are  reasonable, 
had  at  that  time  entered  no  single 
mind ;  and  tlie  alternative  to  these 
two  minds  was  self-denial  or  sacri- 
lege. 

It  was  a  strange  thing  to  hear  them 
talk  with  unrestrained  tenderness  to 
one  another  of  their  boy ;  and  an  icy 
barrier  between  themselves  all  the 
time. 

Eight  years  had  now  passed  thus, 
and  Gerard,  fairly  compared  with 
men  in  general,  was  happy. 

But  Margaret  was  not. 

The  habitual  expression  of  her  face 
was  a  sweet  pensiveness :  but  some- 
times she  was  irritable  and  a  little 
petulant.  She  even  snapped  Gerard 
now  and  then.  And,  when  she  went 
to  see  him,  if  a  monk  was  with  him, 
she  would  turn  her  back  and  go 
home. 

She  hated  the  monks  for  having 
parted  Gerard  and  her,  and  she  in- 
oculated her  boy  with  a  contempt  for 
them  which  lasted  him  till  his  dj-ing 
day. 

Gerard  bore  with  her  like  an  angel. 
He  knew  her  heart  of  gold,  and 
hoped  this  ill  gust  would  blow  over. 

He  himself  being  now  the  right 
man  in  the  right  place  this  many 
years,  loving  his  parishioners,  and 
beloved  by  them,  and  occupied  from 
morn  till  night  in  good  works,  recov- 
ered the  natural  cheerfulness  of  his 
disposition.  To  tell  the  truth,  a  part 
of  his  jocoseness  was  a  blind  :  he  was 
the  greatest  peacemaker,  except  Mr. 
Harmony  in  the  play,  that  ever  was 
born,  fie  reconciled  more  enemies 
in  ten  years  than  his  predecessors  had 
done  in  three  hundred  ;  and  one  of 
his  manoeuvres  in  the  peacemaking 
art  was  to  make  the  quai-rellers  laugh 
at  the  cause  of  quarrel.  So  did  he 
undermine  the  demon  of  discord. 
But,  independently  of  that,  he  really 
Icved  a  harmless  joke.    He  was   a 


424 


THE   CLOISTKH    AND   THK   HKAKTH. 


wonderful  tamer  of  animals,  S4|uirrels, 
hares,  fawns,  &c.  So,  half  in  jest,  a 
parishioner  who  had  a  mule  siip|)Osed 
to  be  possessed  with  a  devil  jjavc  it 
him,  and  said,  "  Tame  ihi-<  vaj,'alK)ne, 
parson,  if  ye  can."  Well,  in  ahout 
six  months,  Heaven  knows  how,  la- 
not  only  tamed  Jack,  but  won  his 
atfections  to  such  a  di.;,Tee  that  Jack 
would  come  running  to  his  whistle 
like  a  dog.  One  day,  having  taken 
shelter  from  a  shower  on  the  stone 
settle  outside  a  certain  ])ul)lie-housc, 
he  heard  a  tojjcr  inside,  a  stranger, 
boasting  he  could  take  more  at  a 
draught  than  any  man  in  (Jouda. 
lit  instantly  maiehed  in  and  said  : 
"  What,  lads,  do  none  of  ye  take  him 
u])  for  the  honor  of  Gouda  ?  Shall 
it  lie  said  that  there  came  hither  one 
from  anotiier  parish  a  greater  .sot  than 
any  of  us  >  ^ay,  then,  I  your  parson 
do  take  him  \i]>.  Go  to ;  I  '11  find 
thee  a  parishioner  shall  drink  more 
at  a  draught  than  thou." 

A  bet  was  made  ;  (Urard  whistled  ; 
in  clattered  Jack,  —  fur  he  was  taught 
to  come  into  a  room  with  the  utmost 
composure, — and  put  his  nose  into 
his  backer's  hand. 

"  A  pair  of  buckets  !  "  shouted  Ge- 
rard, "  and  let  us  see  which  of  the.se 
two  sons  of  asses  can  drink  most  at  a 
draught." 

On  another  occasion  two  farmers 
had  a  dispute  whose  hay  was  the  best. 
Failing  to  convince  each  other,  they 
said,  "  We  '11  ask  parson  "  ;  for  by 
this  time  he  was  their  referee  in  every 
mortal  thing. 

"  How  lucky  you  thought  of  me," 
said  Gerard.  "  Why,  I  have  got  one 
staying  with  me  who  is  the  best  judge 
of  hay  in  Holland.  Bring  me  a 
double  handful  apiece." 

vSo,  when  they  came,  he  had  them 
into  the  jiarlor,  and  put  each  bundle 
on  a  chair.  Then  he  whistled,  and 
in  walked  Jack. 

"  J^ord  a  mercy  !  "  said  one  of  the 
farmers. 

"Jack,"  said  the  parson,  in  the 
tone  of  conversation,  "just  tell  us 
which  is  the  best  hay  of  these  two." 


Jack  snitfed  them  both,  and  made 
his  choice  directly  ;  proving  his  sin- 
cerity by  eating  every  morsel.  The 
farmers  sla|)|R'd  their  thighs,  and 
.scratched  tlieir  heads.  "  To  think 
of  we  not  tliinkini.'  o'  that."  And 
they  each  sent  .lack  a  truss. 

So  Gerard  got  to  lie  called  the 
merry  parson  of  Gomta.  But  Marga- 
n-t,  who,  like  most  loving  wumen,  had 
no  more  sense  of  humor  than  a  turtle- 
dove, took  this  very  ill.  "  What !  " 
said  .>»lie  to  herself,  "  is  then-  nothing 
.M)re  at  the  iKittom  of  his  heurt  that 
he  can  go  alnxit  jilaying  the  zany?" 
She  could  understand  pious  resigna- 
tion and  content,  but  not  mirth,  in 
true  lo\ers  parted.  Ami  whilst  her 
woman's  nature  was  |)erturl>ed  by 
this  gust  (and  women  seem  more 
subject  to  gusts  than  men),  came  that 
terrible  animal,  a  busyl>ody,  to  work 
u|)on  her.  Catherine  saw  she  was 
not  happy,  and  said  to  her :  "  Your 
l)oy  is  gone  from  you.  1  would  not 
live  alone  all  my  ilays  if  I  were  you." 

"  y/'  is  more  alone  than  I,"  sighed 
Margaret. 

"  < ),  a  man  is  a  man  :  but  a  woman 
is  a  woman.  You  must  not  think  all 
of  him  and  none  of  yourself.  Near 
is  your  kirtle,  but  nearer  is  yonr 
smo<k.  Besides,  he  is  a  jjricst,  and 
can  do  no  Itetter.  But  you  are  not  a 
priest.  He  ha.s  got  his  jmri.sh,  and 
nis  heart  is  in  that.  Bethink  thee  ! 
Time  Hies;  overstay  not  thy  market. 
Wouldst  not  like  to  have  three  or 
four  more  little  darlings  alKjut  thy 
knee  now  they  have  robbed  thee  of 
poor  little  (ierard,  an<l  sent  him  to 
yon  nasty  school  '.  "  And  so  she 
worked  upon  a  mind  already  irritat- 
ed. 

Margaret  had  many  suitors  ready 
to  marry  her  at  a  word  or  even  a 
look,  and  among  them  two  merchants 
of  the  iK'tter  class,  Yan  Schelt  and 
Oostwagen.  "Take  one  of  these 
two,"  said  Catherine. 

"Well,  I  will  ask  Gerard  if  I 
may,"  said  Margaret  one  day,  with  a 
flood  of  tears ;  "for  I  cannot  go  on 
the  wavl  am." 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


425 


"Why,  you  would  never  be  so 
simple  as  ask  him  ?  " 

"  Think  you  I  would  be  so  wicked 
as  marry  without  his  leave  1  " 

Accordingly  she  actually  went  to 
Gouda,  and  after  hanging  her  head, 
and  blushing,  and  crying,  and  say- 
ing she  was  miserable,  told  him  his 
mother  wished  her  to  marry  one  of 
those  two  ;  and,  if  he  approved  of  her 
marrying  at  all,  would  he  use  his 
wisdom,  and  tell  her  wliich  he  thought 
would  be  the  kindest  to  the  little 
Gerard  of  those  two  ;  for  herself  she 
did  not  care  what  became  of  her. 

Gerard  felt  as  if  she  had  put  a 
soft  hand  into  his  body,  and  torn  his 
heart  out  with  it.  But  the  priest 
with  a  mighty  elfort  mastered  the 
man.  In  a  voice  scarcely  audible  he 
declined  this  responsibility.  "  I  am 
not  a  saint  or  a  prophet,"  said  he ; 
"  I  might  advise  thee  ill.  I  shall 
read  the  marriage  senice  for  thee," 
faltered  he  ;  "  it  is  my  right.  No 
other  would  pray  for  thee  as  I  should. 
But  thou  must  choose  for  thj-^elf; 
and  0,  let  me  sec  thee  happy.  This 
four  months  past  thou  hast  not  been 
happy." 

"A  discontented  mind  is  never 
happy,"  said  Margaret. 

She  left  him,  and  he  fell  on  his 
knees,  and  prayed  for  help  from 
above. 

Margaret  went  home  pale  and 
agitated.  "  Mother,"  said  she,  "never 
mention  it  to  me  again,  or  we  shall 
quarrel." 

"He  forbade  you?  AVell,  more 
shame  for  him,  that  is  all." 

"  He  forbid  me  ?  He  did  not 
condescend  so  far.  He  was  as  noble 
as  I  was  paltry.  He  would  not 
choose  for  me  for  fear  of  choosing  me 
an  ill  husband.  But  he  would  read 
the  service  for  my  groom  and  me ; 
that  was  his  right.  O  mother,  what 
a  heartless  creature  I  was  !  " 

"  Well,  I  thought  not  he  had  that 
much  sense." 

"  Ah,  you  go  by  tlie  poor  soul's 
words  ;  but  I  rate  words  as  air  when 
the  face  spcaketh  to  mine  eye.     I  saw 


the  priest  and  the  true  lover  a  fight- 
ing in  his  dear  face,  and  his  cheek 
pale  with  the  strife,  and  0,  his  pool 
lip  trembled  as  he  said  the  stout- 
hearted words  —  Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  oh ! 
oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  "  And  Margaret  burst 
into  a  violent  passion  of  tears. 

Catherine  groaned.  "  There,  give 
it  up  without  more  ado,"  said  she. 
"  You  two  are  chained  together  for 
life,  and,  if  God  is  merciful,  that 
won't  be  for  long  :  for  what  are  you  1 
neither  maid,  wife,  nor  widow." 

"  Give  it  up  ?  "  said  Margaret ; 
"  that  was  done  long  ago.  All  I 
think  of  now  is  comforting  him  ;  for 
now  I  have  been  and  made  him  un- 
happy too,  wretch  and  monster  that 
I  am." 

So  the  next  day  they  both  went  to 
Gouda.  And  Gerard,  who  had  been 
praying  for  resignation  all  this  time, 
received  her  with  peculiar  tenderness 
as  a  treasure  he  was  to  lose ;  but  she 
was  agitated,  and  eager  to  let  him 
see  without  words  that  she  would 
never  marry,  and  she  fawned  on  him 
like  a  little  dog  to  be  forgiven.  And 
as  she  was  going  away  she  mur- 
mured :  "  Forgive  !  and  forget !  I  am 
but  a  woman." 

He  misunderstood  her,  and  said  : 
"  All  I  bargain  for  is,  let  me  see  thee 
content ;  for  pity's  sake,  let  me  not  see 
thee  unhappy  as  I  have  this  while." 

"  My  darling,  you  never  shall 
again,"  said  Margaret,  with  stream- 
ing eyes,  and  kissed  his  hand. 

He  misunderstood  this  too  at  first ; 
but  when  month  after  month  passed, 
and  he  heard  no  more  of  her  marriage, 
and  she  came  to  Gouda  comparative- 
ly cheerful,  and  was  even  civil  to 
Father  Ambrose,  a  mild,  benevolent 
monk  from  the*  Dominican  convent 
hard  by,  —  then  he  understood  her, 
and  one  day  he  invited  her  to  walk 
alone  with  him  in  the  sacred  pad- 
dock ;  and,  before  I  relate  what  passed 
between  them,  I  must  give  its  his- 
tory. When  Gerard  had  been  four 
or  five  days  at  the  manse,  looking  out 
of  window  he  uttered  an  exclamation 
of  joy.     "  Mother,  Margaret,  here  is 


426 


THK   CLOISTEIi   AND   TllK   IlEAIiTH. 


one  of  my  birds  ;  another,  another  ; 
four,  six,  nine.  A  miracle !  mira- 
cle !  " 

"  Why,  how  can  you  tell  your 
birds  from  their  fellows  ?  "  said 
Catherine. 

"  I  know  every  feather  in  their 
winffs.  And  see,  there  is  the  little 
darlinLC  whose  beak  I  pit,  bless  it." 

And  iirescntly  his  rapture  took  a 
serious  turn,  and  he  saw  Heaven's 
approbation  in  this  conduct  of  the 
birds  as  he  did  in  the  fall  of  the  euve. 
This  wonderfully  kept  alive  his 
friendship  for  animals ;  and  he  en- 
closed a  paddock,  and  drove  all  the 
sons  of  C'nin  from  it  with  threats  of 
cxcoiuniunicarion.  "  On  this  little 
spot  of  earth  we'll  have  no  murder," 
said  he.  lie  tamed  leverets  and 
partrid^^es,  and  little  birds,  and  hares, 
and  roe-deer.  He  found  a  s(|uirrel 
with  a  broken  le;; ;  he  set  it  with  in- 
finite ditlieulty  and  patience  ;  and 
during  the  cure  showeti  it  rei)Ositories 
of  acorns,  nuts,  chestnuts,  &c.  And 
this  S(]uirrel  f;ot  well  ami  went  otf, 
t»ut  visited  him  in  hard  weather,  and 
broufrht  a  mate,  anil  ne.xt  year  little 
squirrels  were  found  to  have  imbibed 
their  parents'  sentiments  ;  and  of  all 
these  animals  each  i^eiieration  was 
tamer  than  the  last.  This  set  the 
pood  parson  thinking;,  and  gave  him 
the  true  clew  to  the  preat  successes 
of  mediiBval  hcnnits  in  tiiminy  wild 
animals. 

He  kejjt  the  key  of  this  paddock, 
and  never  let  any  nnui  but  himself 
enter  it ;  nor  would  he  even  let  little 
Gerard  go  there  without  him  or  Mar- 
garet. "  Children  arc  all  little  Cains," 
said  he. 

In  this  oasis  then  he  spoke  to  Mar- 
garet, aiul  said  :  "  Dear  Margaret,  I 
have  thought  more  than  ever  of  thee 
of  late,  and  have  asked  myself  why  I 
am  content,  and  thou  unhappy." 

"  Because  thou  art  better,  wiser, 
holier,  than  I ;  that  is  all,"  said  Mar- 
garet, promptly. 

"  Uur  lives  tell  another  tale,"  said 
Gerard,  thoughtfully.  "  I  know  thy 
goodness  and  thy  wisdom  too  well  to 


reason  thus  perversely.  Also  I  know 
that  I  love  thee  as  dear  as  thou,  I 
think,  lovcst  me.  Vet  am  I  happier 
than  thou.      Why  is  this  .so  !  " 

"  Dear  Gerard,  I  am  as  happy  as 
a  woman  can  hope  to  be  this  side  the 
grave." 

"  Not  so  happy  as  I.  Now  for  the 
reason.  First,  then,  I  am  a  priest, 
and  this,  the  one  ;;reat  trial  and  dis- 
ap|H)intment  God  givcth  me  along 
with  so  many  joys,  why,  I  share  it 
with  a  multitude.  For,  ala.s  !  I  am 
not  the  only  jiriest  by  thousands  that 
nmst  never  hope  for  entire  earthly 
happiness.  Here,  then,  thy  lot  is 
harder  than  mine." 

"  But,  Gerard,  I  have  my  child  to 
love.  Thou  canst  not  till  thy  heart 
with  him  as  his  mother  can.  80  you 
may  set  this  against  yon." 

"  Anil  I  have  ta'en  him  from  thee ; 
it  was  cruel ;  but  he  would  have  bro- 
ken thy  heart  one  day  if  I  hiul  not. 
Well,  then,  sweet  one,  I  come  to 
where  the  shoe  pincheth,  methinks. 
I  have  my  parish,  and  it  kee])S  my 
heart  in  a  glow  from  morn  till  night. 
There  is  scarce  an  emotion  that  my 
folk  stir  not  up  in  me  many  times  a 
day.  ( )ften  their  sorrows  make  mc 
weep,  sometimes  their  pener.Nity  kin- 
dles a  little  wrath,  and  their  absurd- 
ity makes  me  laugh,  and  sometimes 
their  flashes  of  unexpected  goodness 
do  set  me  all  of  a  glow,  and  I  could 
hug  'em. 

"  Meantime  thou,  poor  soul,  sittest 
with  heart." 

"  Of  lead,  Gerard,  of  very  lead." 

"  See,  now,  how  unkind  thy  lot 
compared  with  mine.  Now  how  if 
thou  couldst  l)c  persuaded  to  warm 
thvself  at  the  fire  that  warmoth  me." 

■"  Ah,  if  I  could  ?  " 

"  Hast  but  to  will  it.  Come  among 
my  folk.  Take  in  thine  hand  the 
alms  I  set  aside,  and  give  it  with  kind 
words  ;  hear  their  sorrows  :  they  shall 
show  you  life  is  full  of  troubles,  and, 
as  thou  sayest  truly,  no  man  or  wo- 
man without  their  thorn  this  side  the 
grave.  In  doors  I  have  a  map  of 
Gouda    parish.      Not   to  o'erburdcn 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


427 


thee  at  first,  I  will  put  twenty  housen 
under  thee  with  their  folk.  What 
saycst  thou  ?  but  for  thy  wisdom  I 
had  died  a  dirty  maniac,  and  ne'er 
seen  Gouda  manse,  nor  pious  peace. 
Wilt  profit  in  turn  by  what  little  wis- 
dom /  have  to  soften  her  lot  to  whom 
I  do  owe  all  1  " 

Margaret  assented  warmly  ;  and  a 
happy  thing  it  was  for  the  little  dis- 
trict assigned  to  her  :  it  was  as  if  an 
angel  had  descended  on  them.  Her 
fingers  were  never  tired  of  knitting, 
or  cutting  for  them,  her  heart  of  sym- 
pathizing with  them.  And  that  heart 
expanded  and  waved  its  drooping 
wings ;  and  the  gfow  of  good  and 
gentle  deeds  began  to  spread  over  it ; 
and  she  was  rewarded  in  another  way, 
by  being  brought  into  more  contact 
with  Gerard,  and  also  with  his  spirit. 
All  this  time  malicious  tongues  had 
not  been  idle.  "  If  there  is  naught 
between  them  more  than  meets  the 
eye,  why  doth  she  not  marry  ?  "  «Si:c. 
And  I  am  sorry  to  say  our  old  friend 
Joan  Ketel  was  one  of  these  coarse 
sceptics.  And  now  one  winter  even- 
ing she  got  on  a  hot  scent.  She  saw 
Margaret  and  Gerard  talking  earnest- 
ly together  on  the  Boulevard.  She 
whipped  behind  a  tree.  "  Now  I  '11 
hear  something,"  said  she :  and  so  she 
did.  It  was  winter ;  there  had  been 
one  of  those  tremendous  floods  fol- 
lowed by  a  sharp  frost,  and  Gerard  in 
despair  as  to  where  he  should  lodge 
forty  or  fifty  houseless  folk  out  of  the 
piercing  cold.  And  now  it  was,  "  0 
dear,  dear  Margaret,  what  shall  I 
do?  The  manse  is  full  of  them, 
and  a  sharp  frost  coming  on  this 
night." 

Margaret  reflected,  and  Joan  lis- 
tened. 

"  You  must  lodge  them  in  the 
church,"  said  Margaret,  quietly. 

"  In  the  church '?     Profanation." 

"  No  :  charity  prof;ines  nothing  ; 
not  even  a  church  :  soils  naught,  not 
even  a  church.  To-day  is  but  Tues- 
day. Go  sa-\c  their  lives  ;  for  a  bitter 
night  is  coming.  Take  thy  stove  into 
the  church ;  and  there  house   them. 


We  will  dispose  of  them  here  and 
there  ere  the  Lord's  day." 

"  And  I  could  not  think  of  that ; 
bless  thee,  sweet  Margaret ;  thy  mind 
is  stronger  than  mine,  and  readier." 

"  Nay,  nay,  a  woman  looks  but  a 
little  way ;  therefore  she  sees  clear. 
I  '11  come  over  myself  to-mon-ow." 

And  on  this  they  parted  with  mu- 
tual blessings. 

Joan  glided  home  remorseful. 

And  after  that  she  used  to  check 
all  surmises  to  their  discredit.  "  Be- 
ware," she  would  say,  "  lest  some 
angel  should  blister  thy  tongue.  Ge- 
rard and  Margaret  paramours  ?  I 
tell  ye  they  are  two  saints  which  meet 
in  secret  to  plot  charity  to  the  poor." 

In  the  summer  of  1481  Gerard  de- 
termined to  provide  against  similar 
disasters  recurring  to  his  poor.  Ac- 
cordingly he  made  a  great  hole  in  his 
income,  and  bled  his  friends  (zealdus 
parsons  always  do  that)  to  build  a 
large  Xenodochium  to  receive  the 
victims  of  flood  or  fire.  Giles  and 
all  his  friends  were  kind,  but  all  was 
not  enough,  when  lo  !  the  Dominican 
monks  of  Gouda,  to  whom  his  parlor 
and  heart  had  been  open  for  years, 
came  out  nobly  and  put  down  a  hand- 
some sum  to  aid  the  charitable  vicar. 

"  The  dear  good  souls,"  said  Mar- 
garet, "  who  would  have  thought 
it!" 

"  Any  one  who  knows  them,"  said 
Gerard.  "  Who  more  charitable  than 
monks  ?  " 

"  Go  to !  They  do  but  give  the 
laity  back  a  pig  of  their  own  sow." 

"  And  what  more  do  I  ?  What 
more  doth  the  duke  ?  " 

Then  the  ambitious  vicar  must 
build  almshouses  for  decayed  true 
men  in  their  old  age,  close  to  the 
manse,  that  he  might  keep  and  feed 
them,  as  well  as  lodge  them.  And, 
his  money  being  gone,  he  asked  Mar- 
garet for  a  few  thousand  bricks,  and 
just  took  off"  his  coat  and  turned 
builder ;  and  as  he  had  a  good  head, 
and  the  strength  of  a  Hercules,  with 
the  zeal  of  an  artist,  up  rose  a  couple 
of  almshouses  parson  built. 


428 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


And  at  this  work  Margaret  would 
sometimes  bring  him  his  dinner,  and 
add  a  good  hottle  of  Kheiiisli.  And 
once,  seeing  him  run  up  a  ]ihink  with 
a  wheelhanow  full  of  iirieks,  wiiich 
really  most  bricklayers  would  have 
gone  sUiggering  under,  she  said, 
"  Times  are  changed  since  I  had  to 
carry  little  Gerard  for  thee." 

"Ay,  dear  one,  thanks  to  thee." 

When  the  first  home  was  finished, 
the  question  was  who  they  should  put 
into  it ;  and,  being  fastidious  over  it 
like  a  new  toy,  there  was  much  hes- 
itation. But  an  old  friend  arrived  in 
time  to  settle  this  (jucstion. 

As  (icrard  was  ])assing  a  public- 
house  in  Rotterdam  one  day,  he  heard 
a  well-known  voice,  lie  looked  up, 
and  tliere  was  Denys  of  Burgundy  ; 
but  sadly  changed  :  his  beard  stained 
witii  gray,  and  his  clothes  worn  and 
ratrged ;  he  had  a  cuirass  still,  and 
gauntlets,  but  a  staff  instead  of  an  ar- 
balest. To  the  company  he  apj)eared 
to  be  bragging  and  boasting ;  hut  in 
reality  lie  was  giving  a  true  relation 
of  Edward  the  Fourth's  invasion  of 
an  armed  kingdom  with  2000  men, 
and  his  march  through  the  country 
with  armies  ca])able  of  swallowing 
him,  looking  on,  his  battles  at  Tewkes- 
bury and  Barnct,  and  rcoccupation 
of  his  capital  and  kingdom  in  three 
months  after  landing  at  the  HumWr 
with  a  mixed  handful  of  Dutch,  Eng- 
lish, and  Burgundians. 

In  this,  the  greatest  feat  of  arms 
the  century  had  seen,  Denys  had 
shone :  and  whilst  sneering  at  the 
warlike  pretensions  of  Charles  the 
Bold,  a  duke  with  an  itch,  but  no 
talent,  for  fighting,  and  proclaiming 
the  English  king  the  first  captain  of 
the  age,  did  not  forget  to  exalt  him- 
self. 

Gerard  listened  with  eyes  glittering 
affection  and  fun.  "  And  now,"  said 
Denys,  "  after  all  these  feats,  patted  on 
the  back  by  the  gallant  young  Prince 
of  Gloucester,  and  smiled  on  by  the 
great  captain  himself,  here  I  am  lamed 
for  life  ;  by  what  1  by  the  kick  of  a 
horse,  and  this  night  I  know  not  where 


I  shall  lay  my  tired  bones.  I  had  a 
comrade  once  in  these  parts,  that 
would  not  have  Ii't  me  lie  far  from 
him.  But  he  turned  jtricst  and  dc- 
-serted  his  sweetheart  ;  so  't  is  not 
likely  he  would  remember  hin  com- 
rade. And  ten  years  play  sail  havoc 
with  our  hearts,  and  limbs,  and  all." 
Poor  Denys  sighed ;  and  Gerard's 
bowels  yearned  over  him. 

"  What  words  are  these  ?  "  he  said, 
with  a  great  gulp  in  his  throat. 
"  Who  grudges  a  brave  soldier  supper 
and  bed  f     Come  honu'  with  me ! 

"  Much  obliged  ;  but  I  am  no  lover 
of  priests." 

"  Nor   I   of  soldiers  ;  but  what   is 
!  supper   and   bed    between    two    true 
men  1  " 

"  Not  much  to  you  ;  but  something 
to  me.     I  will  come." 

•'  In  one  hour,"  said  Gerard,  and 
went  in  high  spirits  to  Margaret,  and 
told  iier  the  treat  in  store,  and  she 
nuist  come  and  share  it.  She  must 
drive  his  mother  in  his  little  carriage 
up  to  the  nuuise  with  all  speed,  and 
make  ready  an  excellent  sujipcr. 

Then  he  himself  borrowed  a  cart, 
and  drove  Denys  uj)  rather  slowly,  to 
give  the  women  time. 

On  the  road  Denys  found  out  this 
priest  was  a  kind  soul  ;  so  told  him 
his  trouble,  and  confessed  his  heart 
was  pretty  near  broken.  "  The  great 
u.se  our  stout  hearts,  and  arms,  and 
lives,  till  we  arc  worn  out,  and  then 
fling  us  away  like  broken  tools."  lie 
sighed  deej)ly,  and  it  cost  Gerard  a 
great  struggle  not  to  hug  him  then 
and  there,  and  tell  him.  But  he 
wanted  to  do  it  all  like  a  story  book. 
Who  has  not  had  this  fancy  once  in 
his  life  ?  Why,  Joseph  had  it ;  all  the 
better  for  us. 

They  landed  at  the  little  house. 
It  was  clean  as  a  penny  ;  the  hearth 
blazing,  and  supj)er  set. 

Denys  brightened  up.  "  Is  this 
your  house,  reverend  sir  ?  " 

"  Well  't  is  my  work,  and  witli 
these  hands  ;  but  't  is  your  house." 

"  Ah,  no  such  luck,"  said  Denys, 
with  a  sigh. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


4'i9 


"  But  I  say  ay,"  shouted  Gerard. 
"And  what  is  more,  I  — "  (gulp) 
"  say  —  "  (gulp)  "  Courage,  cama- 
rade,  le  diable  est  mort ! " 

Denys  started  and  almost  stag- 
gered. "  Why,  what  ?  "  he  stam- 
mered, 'Sv — wh — who  art  thou  that 
bringest  me  back  the  merry  words 
and  merry  days  of  my  youth  ?  "  and 
he  was  greatly  agitated. 

"  My  poor  Uenys,  I  am  one  whose 
face  is  changed,  but  naught  else  :  to 
my  heart,  dear  trusty  comrade,  to  my 
heart."  And  he  opened  his  arms, 
with  the  tears  in  his  eyes.  But 
Denys  came  close  to  him,  and  peered 
in  his  face,  and  devoured  ever}^  fea- 
ture ;  and,  when  he  was  sure  it  was 
really  Gerard,  he  uttered  a  cry  so  ve- 
hement it  brought  the  women  run- 
ning from  the  house,  and  fell  upon 
Gerard's  neck,  and  kissed  him  again 
and  again,  and  sank  on  his  knees, 
and  laughed  and  sobbed  with  joy  so 
terribly  that  Gerard  mourned  his  folly 
in  doing  dramas.  But  the  women 
with  their  gentle  soothing  ways  soon 
composed  the  brave  fellow ;  and  he 
sat  smiling,  and  holding  Margaret's 
hand  and  Gerard's.  And  they  all 
supped  together,  and  went  to  their 
beds  with  hearts  warm  as  a  toast,  and 
the  broken  soldier  was  at  peace,  and 
in  his  own  house,  and  under  his  com- 
rade's wing. 

His  natural  gaj-ety  returned,  and 
he  resumed  his  consigne  after  eight 
years'  disuse,  and  hobbled  about  the 
place  enlivening  it,  but  offended  the 
parish  mortally  by  calling  the  adored 
vicar  comrade,  and  nothing  but  com- 
rade. 

When  they  made  a  fuss  about  this 
to  Gerard,  he  just  looked  in  their 
faces  and  said  :  "  What  does  it  mat- 
ter ?  Break  him  of  swearing,  and  you 
shall  have  my  thanks." 

This  year  Margaret  went  to  a  law- 
yer to  make  her  will,  for  without  this 
she  was  told  her  boy  might  have 
trouble  some  day  to  get  his  own,  not 
being  born  in  lawful  wedlock.  The 
lawyer,  however,  in  conversation,  ex- 
pressed a  different  opinion. 


"  This  is  the  babble  of  churchmen," 
said  he.  "  Yours  is  a  perfect  mar- 
riage, though  an  irregular  one." 

He  then  informed  her  that  through- 
out Europe,  excepting  only  the  south- 
ern part  of  Britain,  there  were  three 
irregular  marriages,  the  highest  of 
which  was  hers,  viz.  a  betrothal  be- 
fore witnesses. 

"  This,"  said  he,  "  if  not  followed 
by  matrimonial  intercourse,  is  a  mar- 
riage complete  in  form,  but  incom- 
plete in  substance.  A  person  so  be- 
trothed can  forbid  any  other  banns  to 
all  eternity.  It  has,  however,  been  set 
aside  where  a  party  so  betrothed  con- 
trived to  get  married  regularly  and 
children  were  bom  thereafter.  But 
such  a  decision  was  for  the  sake  of 
the  offspring,  and  of  doubtful  justice. 
However,  in  your  case,  the  birth 
of  your  child  closes  that  door,  and 
your  marriage  is  complete  both  in 
form  and  substance.  Your  course, 
therefore,  is  to  sue  for  your  conjugal 
rights  :  it  will  be  the  prettiest  case  of 
the  century.  The  law  is  all  on  our 
side,  the  Church  all  on  theirs.  If 
you  come  to  that,  the  old  Batavian 
law,  which  compelled  the  clergy  to 
maiTy,  hath  fallen  into  disuse,  but 
was  never  formally  repealed." 

Margaret  was  quite  puzzled. 
"  What  are  you  driving  at,  sir  ?  Who 
am  I  to  go  to  law  with  ?  " 

"  Who  is  the  defendant  1  Why, 
the  vicar  of  Gouda." 

"  Alas,  poor  soul !  And  for  what 
shall  I  law  him  ?  " 

"  Why,  to  make  him  take  you  into 
his  house,  and  share  bed  and  board 
with  you,  to  be  sure." 

Margaret  turned  red  as  fire. 
"  Gramercy  for  your  rede,"  said  she. 
"  What,  is  yon  a  woman's  part  f 
Constrain  a  man  to  be  hers  by  force  ? 
That  is  men's  way  of  wooing,  not 
ours.  Say  I  were  so  ill  a  woman 
as  ye  think  me,  I  should  set  myself  to 
beguile  him,  not  to  law  him  "  ;  and 
she  departed,  crimson  with  shamo 
and  indignation. 

"  There  is  an  impracticable  fool  for 
you,"  said  the  man  of  art. 


430 


THE   CLOISTKR  AND   THE  HEARTH. 


Margaret  had  her  will  drawn  else- 
where, and  made  her  boy  safe  from 
poverty,  marriage  or  no  marriage. 

These  are  the  jjrineipal  incidents 
that  in  ten  whole  years  befell  two 
])eaccful  lives,  whieh  in  a  much 
shorter  period  had  been  so  thronged 
with  adventures  and  emotions. 

Their  general  tenor  was  now  peace, 
piety,  the  mild  content  that  last^s,  not 
the  fierce  bliss  ever  on  tiptoe  to  de- 
part, and,  above  all,  Cliristian  char- 
ity. 

On  this  sacred  ground  these  two 
true  lovers  met  with  a  uniformity 
and  a  kindness  of  sentiment  which 
went  far  to  soothe  the  wound  in  their 
own  hearts.  To  pity  the  same  Ix;- 
reaved  ;  to  hunt  in  couples  all  the  ills 
in  Gouda,  and  contrive  and  scheme 
together  to  remedy  all  that  were  re- 
mediable ;  to  use  the  rare  insight  into 
troubled  hearts,  which  their  own 
troubles  had  given  them,  and  use  it 
to  make  others  happier  than  them- 
selves, —  this  was  their  daily  j)ractice. 
And  in  this  blessed  cause  their  pas- 
sion for  one  another  cooled  a  little, 
but  their  aflFection  increased.  From 
the  time  Margaret  entered  heart  and 
soul  into  Gerard's  ])ious  charities,  that 
afFection  purged  itself  of  all  mortal 
dross.  And,  as  it  had  now  long  out- 
lived scandal  and  misapprehension, 
one  would  have  thought  that  so 
bright  an  example  of  pure  self-deny- 
ing afFection  was  to  remain  long  be- 
fore the  world,  to  show  men  how 
nearly  religious  faith,  even  when  not 
quite  reasonable,  and  religious  charity, 
which  is  always  reasonable,  could 
raise  two  true  lovers'  hearts  to  the 
loving  hearts  of  the  angels  of  heaven. 
But  the  great  Disposer  of  events  or- 
dered otherwise. 

Little  Gerard  rejoiced  both  his  par- 
ents' hearts  by  the  extraordinary  prog- 
ress he  made  at  Alexander  Haaghe's 
fivmous  school  at  Deventer. 

The  last  time  Margaret  returned 
from  visiting  him  she  came  to  Gerard 
flushed  with  pride.  "  0  Gerard,  he 
will  be  a  great  man  one  day,  thanks 
to  th}-  wisdom  in  taking  him  from  us 


silly  women.  A  great  scholar,  one 
Zinthius,  came  to  see  the  school  and 
jiulge  the  scholars,  and  did  n't  our 
(ierard  stand  up,  and  not  a  line  in 
Horace  or  Terence  could  Zinthius  cite, 
but  the  boy  would  follow  him  with 
the  rest  '  Why,  't  is  a  prodigy,'  says 
that  great  scholar,  and  there  was  his 
poor  mother  stood  by  and  heard  it. 
And  he  took  our  Gerard  in  his  arms 
and  kissed  him,  and  what  think  you  he 
said  ?  " 

"  Nay,  I  know  not." 

" '  Holland  will  hear  of  thee  one 
day:  and  not  Holland  only,  but  all 
the  world.'  Why,  what  a  sad 
brow  !  " 

"  Sweet  one,  I  am  as  glad  as  thou  ; 
yet  am  I  uneasy  to  hear  the  child  is 
wise  before  his  time.  1  love  him  dear : 
but  he  is  thine  idol ;  and  Heaven  dotU 
often  break  our  idols." 

"  Make  thy  mind  easy,"  said  Mar- 
garet. "  Heaven  will  never  rob  mo 
of  my  child.  What  I  was  to  suffer  in 
this  world  I  have  sufTered.  For,  if  any 
ill  happened  my  child  or  thee,  I  should 
not  live  a  week.  The  Lord  he  knows 
this,  and  he  will  leave  me  my  boy." 

A  month  had  elapsed  after  this  ;  but 
Margaret's  words  were  vet  ringing  in 
his  ears,  when,  going  his  daily  round 
of  visits  to  his  poor,  he  was  told  quite 
incidentally,  and  as  mere  gossip,  that 
the  plague  wa-s  at  Deventer,  carried 
thither  by  two  sailors  from  Ham- 
burg. 

His  heart  turned  cold  within  him. 
News  did  not  gallop  in  those  days. 
The  fatal  disease  must  have  been  there 
a  long  time  before  the  tidings  would 
reach  Gouda.  He  sent  a  line  by  a  mes- 
senger to  Margaret,  telling  her  that 
he  was  gone  to  fetch  little  Gerard  to 
stay  at  the  manse  a  little  while ;  and 
would  she  see  a  bed  prepared  ?  for  he 
should  be  back  next  day.  And  so  he 
hoped  she  would  not  hear  a  word  of  the 
danger  till  it  was  all  happily  over. 
He  borrowed  a  good  horse,  and  scarce 
drew  rein  till  he  reached  Deventer, 
quite  late  in  the  afternoon.  He  went 
at  once  to  the  school.  The  boy  had 
been  taken  away. 


THE   CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


431 


As  he  left  the  school  he  caught 
sight  of  Margaret's  face  at  the  window 
of  a  neighboring  house  she  always 
lodged  at  when  she  cauia  to  Dcven- 
ter. 

He  ran  hastily  in  to  scold  her  and 
pack  botli  her  and  the  boy  out  of  the 
place. 

To  his  surprise  the  servant  told  him 
with  some  hesitation  that  Margaret 
had  been  there,  but  was  gone. 

"  Gone,  woman  ?  "  said  Gerard,  in- 
dignantly. "  Art  not  ashamed  to  say 
so  i  Why,  I  saw  her  but  now  at  the 
window." 

"  O,  if  you  saw  her —  " 

A  sweet  voice  above  said,"  Stay  him 
not,  let  him  enter."     It  was  Margaret. 

Gerard  ran  up  the  stairs  to  her,  and 
went  to  take  her  hand. 

She  drew  back  hastily. 

He  looked  astounded. 

"  I  am  displeased,"  said  she,  cold- 
ly. "  Wliat  make  you  here  1  Know 
you  not  the  plague  is  in  the  town  1  " 

"  Ay,  dear  Margaret:  and  came 
straightway  to  take  our  boy  away." 

"  What,  had  he  no  mother  ?  " 

"  How  you  s]X'ak  to  mc !  I  hoped 
30U  knew  not." 

"  Wliat,  think  you  I  leave  my  boy 
unwatclied  ?  I  jiay  a  trusty  woman 
that  notes  every  change  in  his  cheek 
when  I  am  not  here,  and  lets  mc  know. 
I  am  his  mother." 

"  Where  is  he  ^  " 

"  In  Rotterdam,  I  hojx",  ere  this." 

"  Thank  Heaven  !  And  why  are 
}'ou  not  there  f  " 

"  I  am  not  fit  for  the  journey: 
never  heed  mc  ;  go  you  home  on  the 
instant :  I  '11  follow.  For  shame  of 
you  to  come  here  risking  your  pre- 
cious life." 

"  It  is  not  so  precious  as  thine," 
said  Gerard.  "  But  let  that  pass  ;  wc 
will  go  home  together,  and  on  the  in- 
stant." 

"  Nay,  I  have  some  matters  to  do  in 
the  town.  Go  thou  at  once;  and  I 
will  follow  forthwith." 

"  Leave  thee  alone  in  a  plague- 
stricken  town  1  To  whom  speak  you, 
dear  Margaret  ? " 

19 


"  Nay,  then,  we  shall  quarrel,  Ge- 
rard." 

"  Methinks  I  sec  Margaret  and  Ge- 
rard quarrelling !  Why,  it  takes  two  to 
quarrel,  and  we  arc  but  one." 

With  this  Gerard  smiled  on  her 
sweetly.  But  there  was  no  kind  re- 
sponsive glance.  She  looked  cold, 
gloomy,  and  troubled.  He  sighed, 
and  sat  patiently  down  opposite  her 
with  his  face  all  puzzled  and  saddened. 
He  said  nothing  :  for  he  felt  sure  she 
would  explain  her  capricious  conduct, 
or  it  would  explain  itself. 

Presently  she  rose  hastily,  and  tried 
to  reach  her  bedroom  :  but  on  tlie  way 
she  staggered  and  put  out  her  hand. 
He  ran  to  her  with  a  cry  of  alarm. 
She  swooned  in  his  arms.  He  laid  her 
gently  on  the  ground,  and  beat  her 
cold  hands,  and  ran  to  her  bedroom, 
and  fetched  water,  and  sprinkled  her 
pala  fnce.  His  own  was  scarce  less 
pale  ;  for  in  a  basin  he  had  seen  water 
stained  with  l)lood  :  it  alarmed  him, 
he  knew  not  why.  She  was  a  long 
time  ere  she  revived,  and  when  she  did 
she  found  Gerard  holding  her  hand, 
and  bending  over  her  witli  a  look  of  in- 
finite concern  and  tenderness.  She 
seemed  at  fix'st  as  if  she  responded  to 
it.  but  the  next  moment  her  eyes 
dilated,  and  she  cried  :  "  Ah,  wretch, 
leave  my  hand ;  how  dare  you  touch 
me?" 

"  Heaven  help  her !  "  said  Gerard. 
"  She  is  not  herself." 

"  You  will  not  leave  me  then,  Ge- 
rard ?  "  said  she,  faintly.  "  Alas  !  wliy 
do  I  ask  ?  Would  I  leave  thee  if  thou 
wert  —  At  least  touch  me  not,  and 
then  I  will  let  thee  bide,  and  sec  the 
last  of  poor  Margaret.  She  ne'er 
spoke  harsh  to  thee  before,  sweet- 
heart, and  she  never  will  again." 

"Alas!  what  mean  these  dark  words, 
these  wild  and  troubled  looks  ?  "  said 
Gerard,  clasping  his  hands. 

"  My  poor  Gerard,"  said  Margaret, 
"  forgive  me  that  I  spoke  so  to  thee. 
I  am  but  a  woman,  and  would  have 
spared  thee  a  sight  will  make  thee 
weej)."  She  burst  into  tears.  "  Ah 
me !  "  she  cried,  weeping,  "  that  I  can- 


432 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


not  keep  ^icf  from  thee :  there  is  a 
great  sorrow  before  my  darling,  and 
this  time  I  shall  not  be  able  to  come 
and  dry  his  eyes." 

"  Let  it  come,  Marfrarct,  so  it  tonch 
not  thee,"  said  Gerard,  tremblinj^. 

"  Dearest,"  said  Mar}.'arct,  solemn- 
ly, "call  now  relij^ion  to  thine  ai<l  and 
mine.  I  must  have  died  before  thee 
one  day,  or  else  outlived  thee,  and  so 
died  of  f,aief." 

"  Died  ?  thon  die  ?  I  will  never 
let  thee  die.  Where  is  thy  pain  ! 
AVhat  is  thy  trouble  7" 

"  The  plaf^ie,"  said  she,  calmly. 

Gerard  uttenxl  a  cry  of  horror,  and 
started  to  his  feet :  she  read  his 
thought.  "  Useless,"  said  she,  quietly. 
"  My  nose  luith  bled  ;  none  ever  yet 
survived  to  whom  that  came  along 
with  the  plague.  Bring  no  fools  hither 
to  babble  over  the  body  they  cannot 
save.  I  am  but  a  woman  ;  1  love  not 
to  be  stared  at ;  let  none  see  mo  die 
but  thee." 

And  even  with  this  a  convulsion 
seized  her,  and  she  remained  sensible 
but  speechless  a  long  time. 

And  now,  for  the  lirst  time,  Gerard 
began  to  realize  the  frightful  truth, 
and  he  ran  wildly  to  and  fro,  and  cried 
to  Heaven  for  help  as  drowning  men 
cry  to  their  fellow-creatures.  She 
raised  herself  on  her  arm,  and  set 
herself  to  (juiet  him. 

She  told  him  she  had  known  the 
torture  of  hojx;s  and  fears,  and  was 
resolved  to  spare  him  that  agony. 
"  I  let  my  mind  dwell  too  much  on 
the  danger,"  said  she, "  and  so  opened 
my  brain  to  it ;  through  which  door 
when  this  subtle  venom  enters  it 
makes  short  work.  I  shall  not  be 
sj)otted  or  loathsome,  my  poor  dar- 
ling; God  is  good,  and  spares  thee 
that ;  but  in  twelve  hours  I  shall  be  a 
dead  woman.  Ah,  look  not  so,  but 
be  a  man :  be  a  priest !  Waste  not 
one  precious  minute  over  my  body ; 
it  is  doomed ;  but  comfort  my  part- 
ing soul." 

Gerard,  sick  and  cold  at  heart, 
kneeled  down,  and  i)rayed  for  help 
from  Heaven  to  do  his  duty. 


When  he  rose  from  his  kncrs  his 
face  was  pale  and  old,  lint  ileiully  cah« 
and  patient.  He  went  stiftly  and 
brought  her  Ud  into  the  room,  and 
laid  her  gently  do\\^l  and  suj)portetl 
her  head  with  pillows.  Then  he  jtrayed 
by  her  side  the  prayers  for  the  thing, 
and  she  said  Amen  to  each  prayer. 
Then  for  some  hours  she  wandered, 
but,  when  the  fell  disease  had  (piitc 
made  sure  of  its  ])rey,  her  mind 
cleared ;  and  she  iK'gged  Gerard  to 
shrive  her ;  "  For  oh,  my  conscicnco 
it  is  laden,"  said  she,  sadly. 

"  Confess  thy  sins  to  me,  my  di\ugh- 
ter;  let  there  be  no  resenc." 

"  My  father,"  said  she,  sadly,  "  I 
have  one  great  sin  on  my  breast  this 
many  years.  E'en  now  that  death  is 
at  my  heart,  I  can  scane  own  it.  But 
the  Lord  is  delx)nair :  if  thou  wilt  pray 
to  him,  perchance  he  may  forgive 
me." 

"  Confess  it  first,  my  daughter." 

"I  —  alas !  " 

"  Confess  it !  " 

"  I  deceived  thee.  This  many  years 
I  have  deceived  thee." 

Here  tears  intemipted  her  speech. 

"Courage,  my  daughter, courage," 
said  Gerard,  kindly,  overpowering  the 
lover  in  the  priest. 

She  hid  her  face  in  Iicr  hands,  and 
with  many  sighs  told  him  it  was  she 
who  liail  broken  down  the  hermit's 
cave  with  the  help  of  Jorian  Ketcl.  "  I, 
shallow,  did  it  but  to  hinder  thy 
return  hither  ;  but,  when  thon  sawest 
therein  the  finger  of  Gwl,  I  played  the 
traitress  and  said,  '  While  he  thinks 
so  he  will  ne'er  leave  Gouda  manse ' ; 
and  I  held  my  tongue.  O  false 
heart." 

"  Courage,  my  daughter ;  thou  dost 
exaggerate  a  trivial  fault." 

"  Ah,  but  't  is  not  all.    The  birds." 

"  Well  1 " 

"  They  followed  thee  not  to  Gouda 
by  miracle,  but  by  my  treason.  I  said, 
he  will  ne'er  be  quite  Jiappy  without 
his  l)irds  that  visited  him  in  his  cell ; 
and  I  was  jealous  of  them,  and  cried, 
and  said,  these  foul  little  things,  they 
arc  my  child's  rivals.     And  1  iRiught 


THE   CLOISTER  AND   THE  HEARTH. 


4^3 


loaves  of  bread,  and  Jorian  and  me 

we  put  crumbs  at  the  cave  door,  and 
thence  went  spriiikliug  them  all  the 
way  to  the  maijse,  and  there  a  heap. 
And  my  wiles  succeeded,  and  they 
came,  and  thou  wast  glad,  and  I  was 
pleased  to  see  thee  glad  ;  and  when 
tliou  sawest  in  my  guile  the  finger  of 
Heaven,  wicked,  deceitful,  I  did  hold 
my  tongue.  But  die  deceiving  thee  ? 
all,  no,  i  could  not.  Forgive  me  if 
thou  canst ;  I  was  but  a  woman  ;  I 
knew  no  better  at  the  time.  'T  was 
writ  in  my  bosom  with  a  very  sun- 
beam, '  'T  is  good  ibr  him  to  bide  at 
Gouda  manse.'  " 

"Forgive  thee,  sweet  innocent!" 
sobbed  Gerard,  "what  have  /  to  Ibr- 
give  ?  Thou  hadst  a  foolish,  froward 
child  to  guide  to  his  own  weal,  and 
didst  all  this  for  the  best.  I  thank  thee 
and  bless  thee.  But  as  thy  confessor, 
all  deceit  is  ill  in  Heaven's  pure  eye. 
Therefore  thou  hast  done  well  to  con- 
fess and  repent  it ;  and  even  on  thy 
confession  and  penitence  the  Church 
through  me  absolves  thee.  Pass  to 
thy  graver  faults. 

"  My  graver  foults  ?  Alas  !  alas  ! 
Why,  what  have  I  done  to  compare  ? 
I  am  not  an  ill  woman,  not  a  very  ill 
one.  If  He  can  forgive  me  deceiving 
thee.  He  can  well  forgive  me  all  the 
rest  ever  I  did." 

Being  gently  pressed,  she  said  she 
was  to  blame  not  to  have  done  more 
good  in  the  world.  "  I  had  just 
begun  to  do  a  little,"  she  said ;  "  and 
now  I  must  go.  But  I  repine  not, 
since  't  is  Heaven's  will.  Only  I  am 
so  afeard  thou  wilt  miss  me."  And 
at  this  she  could  not  restrain  her  tears, 
though  she  tried  hard. 

Gerard  struggled  with  his  as  well 
as  he  could  ;  and  knowing  her  life  of 
piety,  purity,  and  charity,  and  seeing 
that  she  could  not  in  her  present  state 
realize  any  sin  but  her  having  de- 
ceived him,  gave  her  full  absolution. 
Then  he  put  the  crucifix  in  her  hand, 
and,  while  he  consecrated  the  oil,  baile 
her  fix  her  mind  neither  on  her  merits 
nor  her  demerits,  but  on  Him  who  died 
for  her  on  the  tree. 


She  obeyed  him,  with  a  look  of 
confiding  love  and  submission. 

And  he  touched  her  eyes  with  the 
consecrated  oil,  and  prayed  aloud  be- 
side her. 

Soon  after  she  dozed. 

He  watched  beside  her,  more  dead 
than  alive  himself. 

When  the  day  broke  she  awoke,  and 
seemed  to  acquire  some  energy.  She 
begged  him  to  look  in  her  box  for  her 
marriage  lines,  and  for  a  picture,  and 
bring  them  both  to  her.  He  did  so. 
She  then  entreated  him  by  all  they 
had  suffered  for  each  other  to  ease 
her  mind  by  making  a  solemn  vow  to 
execute  her  dying  requests. 

He  vowed  to  obey  them  to  the  let' 
ter. 

"  Then,  Gerard,  let  no  creature 
come  here  to  lay  me  out.  I  could 
not  bear  to  be  stared  at ;  my  very 
corpse  would  blush.  Also  I  would 
not  be  made  a  monster  of  for  the 
worms  to  sneer  at  as  well  as  feed  on. 
Also  my  very  clothes  arc  tainted,  and 
shall  to  earth  with  me.  I  am  a  physi- 
cian's daughter :  and  ill  becomes  mc 
kill  folk,  being  dead,  which  did  so  lit- 
tle good  to  men  in  the  days  of  health  ; 
wherefore  lap  me  in  lead,  the  way  I 
am  ;  and  bury  me  deep  !  yet  not  so 
deep  but  what  one  day  thou  mayst  find 
the  way,  and  lay  thy  bones  by  mine. 

"Whiles  I  lived  I  went  to  Gouda 
but  once  or  twice  a  week.  It  cost  me, 
not  to  go  each  day.  Let  me  gain 
this  by  dying,  to  be  always  at  dear 
Gouda,  in  the  green  kirkyard. 

"Also  they  do  say  the  spirit  hovers 
where  the  body  lies  :  I  would  have  my 
spirit  hover  near  thee,  and  the  kirk- 
yard is  not  far  from  the  manse.  I 
am  so  afeard  some  ill  will  happen  thee, 
Margaret  being  gone. 

"  And  see,  with  mine  own  hands  I 
place  my  marriage  lines  in  my  bosom. 
Let  no  living  hand  move  them,  on  pain 
t)f  thy  curse  and  mine.  Then,  when 
the  angel  comes  forme  at  the  hvst  day, 
he  shall  say,  this  is  an  honest  woman, 
she  hatli  her  marriage  lines  (for  yon 
know  I  am  }()ur  lawful  wife,  though 
holy  Church  hath  come  between  us), 


434 


THE   CLOISTER   AND   THE   HEARTH. 


and  he  will  set  nic  where  the  honest 
women  l)e.  I  will  not  sit  anion;;  ill 
wonu'ii,  no,  not  in  heaven  ;  for  their 
mind  is  not  my  mind,  nor  their  soul 
my  soul.  I  have  stood  unheknown  at 
my  window,  and  heard  their  talk." 

For  some  time  she  was  umihle  to 
say  any  more,  hut  made  signs  to  him 
that  she  had  not  done. 

At  last  she  recnvered  her  hreatli, 
and  hade  him  look  at  the  jdetiirv. 

It  was  the  ])ortrait  he  had  made  of 
her  when  they  were  young  together, 
and  little  thought  to  part  so  soon, 
lie  held  it  in  his  hands  and  looked  at 
it,  !>ut  eould  searec  see  it.  lie  hail 
left  it  in  fragments,  hut  now  it  was 
whole. 

"  They  eut  it  to  j)ieees,  (Jeranl. 
But  sec,  Love  moeked  at  tlieir  knives. 

"  I  implore  thee  with  my  dying 
hrcath,  let  this  pieture  hang  ever  in 
thine  eye. 

"  I  have  heaiil  that  sueh  as  die  of 
the  ])lague,  unspotted,  yet  after  death 
s|)ots  have  Ikvu  known  to  eome  out ; 
and  oh,  I  cotdd  not  hear  thy  last  mem- 
ory of  mc  to  Ik'  so.  Therefore,  as  s<Mtn 
as  the  hreatli  is  out  of  my  lx)dy,  rover 
my  faee  with  this  handki-rehief,  and 
look  at  me  no  more  till  we  meet 
again,  't  will  not  he  so  very  long.  O 
promise." 

"  1  promise,"  said  Gerard,  sobbing. 

"  Rut  look  on  this  pieture  instead. 
Forgive  me  ;  I  am  hut  a  woman.  I 
could  not  hear  my  face  to  lie  a  foul 
thing  in  thy  memory.  Nay,  I  must 
have  thee  still  think  me  as  fair  as  I 
was  true.  Hast  called  me  an  angel 
once  or  twice  ;  hut  he  just  !  did  I  not 
still  tell  thee  I  was  no  angel,  hut  only 
a  poor  simple  woman,  that  whiles  saw 
clearer  than  thou  heeausc  she  looked 
but  a  little  way,  and  that  loves  thee 
dearly,  and  never  loved  hut  thee,  and 
now  with  her  dying  breath  prays  thcc 
indulge  her  in  this,  thou  that  art  a 
man." 

"  I  will.  I  will.  Each  word,  each 
■wish  is  sacred." 

"  Bless  thee  !  Bless  thee  !  So  then 
the  eyes  that  now  can  sean-e  see  thee 
they  are  so  troubled  by  the  pest,  and 


the  lips  that  shall  not  touch  thee  to 
taint  thee,  will  still  l>e  before  thcc  as 
they  were  when  we  were  young  and 
thou  didst  love  me." 

"  When  I  did  love  thee,  Margaret  ! 
O,  never  loveil  I  thee  as  now." 

"  Hast  not  told  nu;  so  of  late." 

"Alas!  hath  love  no  voice  but  words? 
I  was  a  priest  ;  I  had  charge  of  thy 
soul  ;  the  sweet  ofTices  of  a  jiure  love 
were  lawful  ;  words  of  love  imprudent 
at  the  least.  Hut  now  the  good  fight 
is  won,  ah  me  !  O  my  love,  if  thou 
hast  lived  doubting  ot  thy  Gerard's 
heart,  die  not  so  :  for  never  was  wunuin 
loved  so  tenderly  as  ihou  this  ten  years 
past." 

"  Calm  thyself,  dear  one,"  said  the 
dying  wouuin,  with  a  heavenly  smile. 
"  I  know  it,  only,  being  but  a  woman, 
I  could  not  die  hapj>y  till  I  had 
la'ard  thee  say  so.  Ah,  I  have  pined 
ten  years  for  those  sweet  words. 
Hast  said  them;  and  this  is  the 
happiest  hour  of  my  life.  I  hail  to 
die  to  get  them;  well,  I  grudge  not  the 
price. " 

From  this  moment  a  gentle  com- 
placency rested  on  her  fading  features. 
Hut  she  did  not  s|icak. 

Then  (Jerard,  who  had  loved  hci 
soul  so  many  years,  feared  lest  she 
should  ex])ire  with  a  mind  too  fixed 
on  earthly  aflection.  "  O  my  daugh- 
ter," he  cried,  "my  dear  daughter, 
if  indeed  thou  lovest  mc  as  I  love 
thee,  give  me  not  the  pain  of  .seeing 
thee  die  with  thy  pious  soul  fi.xcd  on 
mortal  things. 

"  Dearest  lamb  of  all  my  fold,  for 
whose  soul  I  must  answer,  oh  think 
not  now  of  mortal  love,  but  of  His  who 
died  for  thee  on  the  tree.  ()  let  thy 
last  look  be  heaveuAvards,  thy  last 
word  a  word  of  i)rayer." 

She  turned  a  look  of  gratitude  and 
obedience  on  him.  "  What  saint  ?  " 
she  murmured  :  meaning,  doubtless, 
what  saint  she  should  invoke  as  an 
intercessor. 

"  He  to  whom  the  saints  themselves 
do  pray." 

She  turned  on  him  one  more  sweet 
look  of  love  and  submission,  and  put 


THE   CLOISTER  AND   THE  HEARTH. 


435 


her  pretty  hands  together  in  prayer 
like  a  child. 
"  Jesu  !  " 

This  blessed  word  was  her  last. 
She  lay  with  her  eyes  heavenwards, 
and  her  hands  put  together. 

Grerard  prayed  fervently  for  her 
passing  spirit-  And  wiien  lie  had 
prayed  a  long  time  with  his  head 
averted,  not  to  see  her  last  breatli,  all 
seemed  unnaturally  still.  He  turned 
his  head  fearfully.     It  was  so. 

She  was  gone. 

Nothing  left  him  now  but  the  earth- 
ly shell  of  as  constant,  pure,  and  lov- 
ing a  spirit  as  ever  adorned  the  earth. 


CHAPTER   XCVII. 

A  PRIEST  is  never  more  thoroughly 
a  priest  than  in  the  chamber  of  death. 
Gerard  did  the  last  offices  of  the 
Church  for  the  departed,  just  as  he 
should  have  done  them  for  his  smallest 

f)arishioner.  He  did  this  mechanical- 
y,  then  sat  down  stupefied  by  the  sud- 
den and  tremendous  blow  ;  and  not  yet 
realizing  the  pangs  of  bereavement. 
Then  in  a  transport  of  religious  enthu- 
siasm he  kneeled  and  thanked  Heav- 
en for  her  Christian  end. 

And  then  all  his  thought  was  to 
take  her  away  from  strangers,  and  lay 
her  in  his  own  churchyard.  That 
very  evening  a  covered  cart  with  one 
horse  started  for  Gouda,  and  in  it 
was  a  coffin,  and  a  broken-hearted 
man  lying  with  his  arms  and  chin  rest- 
ing on  it. 

The  mourner's  short-lived  energy 
had  exhausted  itself  in  the  necessary 
preparations,  and  now  he  lay  crushed, 
clinging  to  the  cold  lead  that  held  her. 

The  man  of  whom  the  cart  was 
liired  walked  bj^  the  hoi'se's  head,  and 
did  not  speak  to  him,  and  when  he 
baited  the  horse  spoke  but  in  a  whis- 
per, respecting  that  mute  agony.  But, 
when  he  stopped  for  the  night,  he  and 
the  landlord  made  a  well-meaning  at- 
tempt   to  get  the  mourner   away  to 


take  some  rest  and  food.  But  Gerard 
repulsed  them,  and,  when  they  persist- 
ed, almost  snarled  at  them,  like  a 
faithful  dog,  and  clung  to  the  cold  lead 
all  night.  So  then  they  drew  a  cloak 
over  him,  and  left  him  in  peace. 

And  at  noon  the  sorrowful  cart 
came  up  to  the  manse,  and  there  were 
full  a  score  of  parishioners  collected 
with  one  little  paltry  trouble  or  an- 
other. They  had  missed  the  parson 
already.  And  when  they  saw  what 
it  was,  and  saw  their  healer  so  strick- 
en down,  they  raised  a  loud  wail  of 
grief,  and  it  roused  him  from  his  leth- 
argy of  woe,  and  he  saw  where  lie 
was  and  their  faces,  and  tried  to  speak 
to  them.  "  O  my  children  !  my  chil- 
dren ! "  he  cried ;  but,  choked  with 
anguish,  could  say  no  more. 

Yet  the  next  day,  spite  of  all  re- 
monstrances, he  buried  her  himself, 
and  read  the  service  with  a  voice  that 
only  trembled  now  and  then.  Many 
tears  fell  upon  her  grave.  And  when 
the  service  ended  he  stayed  there  stand- 
ing like  a  statue,  and  the  people  left 
the  churchyard  out  of  respect. 

He  stood  like  one  in  a  dream,  till 
the  sexton,  who  was,  as  most  men  are, 
a  fool,  began  to  fill  in  the  grave  with- 
out giving  him  due  warning. 

But,  at  the  sound  of  earth  falling 
on  her,  Gerard  uttered  a  piercing 
scream. 

The  sexton  forbore. 

Gerard  staggered  and  put  his  hand 
to  his  breast.  The  sexton  supported 
him,  and  called  for  help. 

Joriaii  Ketel,  who  lingered  near, 
mourning  his  benefactress,  ran  into 
the  churchyard,  and  the  two  support- 
ed Gerard  into  the  manse. 

"  Ah  Jorian  !  good  Jorian  !  "  snid 
he,  "  something  snapped  within  me  ; 
I  felt  it,  and  I  heard  it :  here,  Jorian, 
here  " :  and  he  put  his  hand  to  his 
breast. 


CHAPTER   XCVni. 

A    FORTNIGHT   after  this    a  pale, 
bowed  figure  entered  the  Dominican 


436 


TRK   CLOISTKR   AND   THK   HEARTH. 


convent  in  the  suburbs  of  Gouda,  and 
sought  speech  with  brother  Ambrose, 
who  governed  the  convent  as  deputy, 
the  prior  liaving  lately  died,  and  his 
successor,  though  appointed,  not  hav- 
ing arrived. 

The  sick  man  was  Gerard,  come  to 
end  life  as  he  begun  it.  He  entered 
as  a  novice,  on  probation  ;  but  the 
truth  was,  he  was  a  failing  man, 
and  knew  it,  and  came  there  to  die  in 
peace,  near  kind  and  gentle  Ambrose 
his  friend,  and  the  other  monks  to 
whom  his  house  and  heart  liad  always 
been  open. 

His  manse  was  more  than  he  could 
bear ;  it  was  too  full  of  reminiscences 
of  her. 

Ambrose,  who  knew  his  value  and 
his  sorrow,  wa.s  not  without  a  kindly 
h<)j>e  of  curing  him,  and  restoring  him 
to  bis  parish.  With  this  view  he  jiut 
him  in  a  comfortable  cell  over  the 
gateway,  and  forbade  him  to  fast  or 
practise  any  austerities. 

IJut  in  a  few  days  the  new  prior  ar- 
ri\ed,  and  proved  a  very  Tartar. 

At  first  he  was  absorbed  in  curing 
abuses,  and  tightening  the  general 
discipline ;  but  one  day,  hearing  the 
vicar  of  Gouda  had  entered  the  con- 
vent as  a  novice,  he  said  :  "  'T  is  well ; 
let  him  first  give  uj)  his  vicarage  then, 
or  go ;  I  '11  no  fat  parsons  in  my 
house."  'J'he  ])ri(ir  then  sent  for  Ge- 
rard, and  he  went  to  him  ;  and  the 
moment  they  saw  one  another  they 
both  started. 

"  Clement ! " 

"Jerome ! " 


CHAPTER  XCIX. 

Jerome  was  as  morose  as  ever  in 
his  general  character;  but  he  had 
somewhat  softened  towards  Gerard. 
All  the  time  he  was  in  England  he 
had  missed  him  more  than  he  thought 
possible,  and  since  then  had  often 
wondered  what  had  become  of  him. 
What  he  heard  in  Gouda  raised  his 
feeble  brother  in  his  good  opinion  : 
above  all  that  he  had  withstood  the 


Pope  and  the  Minorites  on  "  the  infer- 
nal heresy  of  the  immaculate  concep- 
tion," as  be  called  it.  But,  when  one 
of  his  young  monks  told  him  with 
tears  in  his  eyes  the  cause  of  Gerard's 
illness,  all  his  contempt  revived. 
"  Dying  for  a  woman  '.  " 

He  determined  to  avert  this  scandal : 
he  visited  Clement  twice  a  day  in  his 
cell,  and  tried  all  his  old  influence  and 
eloquence  to  induce  him  to  shake  off 
this  unspiritual  despondency,  an<l  not 
rob  the  Church  of  his  ])icty  and  his 
eloquence  at  so  critical  a  period. 

Gerard  heard  him,  ajijirovcd  his 
reasoning,  admired  his  strength,  con- 
fessed his  own  weakness,  and  contin- 
ual visibly  to  wear  away  to  tlie  land 
of  the  leal.  One  day  Jerome  told 
him  he  had  heard  his  story,  and  heard 
it  with  ])ridc.  "But  now,"saiil  he, 
"you  spoil  it  all,  Clement :  for  this  is 
the  triumjih  of  earthly  ])assion.  Bet- 
ter have  yielded  to  it,  and  repented, 
than  resist  it  while  she  lived,  and  suc- 
cumb under  it  now  body  and  .'^oul." 

"  IJear  Jerome,"  said  Clement,  so 
sweetly  as  to  rob  his  remonstrance 
of  the  tone  of  remonstrance,  "  here,  I 
think,  you  do  me  some  injustice. 
Passion  there  is  none :  but  a  deep 
affection,  for  which  I  will  not  blush 
here,  since  1  .-hall  not  blush  for  it  in 
Heaven.  Bethink  thee,  Jerome;  the 
poor  dog  that  dies  in  grief  on  his  mas- 
ter's grave,  is  he  guilty  of  passion  1 
Neither  am  I.  Passion  had  saved  my 
life,  and  lost  my  soul.  She  was  my 
good  angel :  she  sustained  me  in 
my  duty  and  charity ;  her  face  en- 
couraged me  in  the  ])ul])it :  her  lips 
soothed  me  under  ingratitude.  She 
intertwined  herself  with  all  that  was 
good  in  my  life ;  and,  after  leaning  on 
her  so  long,  I  could  not  go  on  alone. 
And,  dear  Jerome,  believe  me,  I  am 
no  rebel  against  Heaven.  It  is  God's 
will  to  release  me.  When  they  threw 
the  earth  ui)on  her  poor  cofhn  some- 
thing snapjied  within  my  bosom  here 
that  mended  may  not  be.  I  heard  it 
and  I  felt  it.  And  from  that  time,  Je- 
rome, no  food  that  I  put  in  my  mouth 
had  any  savor.     With  my  eyes  ban- 


THE  CLOISTER  AND   THE  HEARTH. 


437 


daged  now  I  could  not  tell  thee  which 
was  bread,  and  which  wjis  flesh,  by 
eating  of  it." 

"  Holy  saints  !  " 

"  And  again  from  that  same  hour 
my  deep  dejection  left  me,  and  I 
smiled  again.  I  often  smile  —  why  ? 
I  read  it  thus :  He  in  whose  hands 
are  the  issues  of  life  and  death  gave 
me  that  minute  the  great  summons ; 
'twas  some  cord  of  life  snapped  in 
rae.  He  is  very  pitiful.  I  should  have 
lived  unhappy  ;  but  he  said,  '  No ; 
enough  is  done,  enough  is  suffered ; 
poor,  feeble,  loving  servant,  thy 
shortcomings  are  forgiven,  thy  sor- 
rows touch  thine  end  ;  come  thou  to 
thy  rest! '     I  come,  Lord,  I  come." 

Jerome  groaned.  "  The  Church  had 
ever  her  holy  but  feeble  servants,"  he 
said.  "  Now  would  I  give  ten  years 
of  my  life  to  save  thine.  But  I  see  it 
may  not  be.     Die  in  peace." 

And  so  it  was  that  in  a  few  days 
more  Gerard  lay  a  dying  in  a  frame  of 
mind  so  holy  and  happy,  that  more 
than  one  aged  saint  was  there  to 
gamer  his  dying  words.  In  the  even- 
ing he  had  seen  Giles,  and  begged  him 
not  to  let  poor  Jack  starve ;  and  to  see 
that  little  Gerald's  trustees  did  their 
duty,  and  to  kiss  his  parents  for  him, 
and  to  send  Den3'S  to  his  friends  in 
Burgundy  :  "  Poor  thing,  he  will  feel 
so  strange  here  without  his  comrade." 
And  after  that  he  had  an  interview 
with  Jerome  alone.  What  passed  be- 
tween them  was  never  distinctly 
known  ;  but  it  must  have  been  some- 
thing remarkable;  for  Jerome  went 
from  the  door  with  his  hands  crossed 
on  his  breast,  his  high  head  lowered, 
and  sighing  as  he  went. 

The  two  monks  that  watched  Avith 
him  till  matins  related  that  all  through 
the  night  he  broke  out  from  time  to 
time  in  pious  exclamations,  and 
praises  and  thanksgivings  :  only  once 
they  said  he  wandered,  and  thought  he 
saw  her  walking  in  green  meadows 
with  other  spirits  clad  in  white  and 
beckoning  him  ;  and  tliey  all  smiled 
and  l.jckoned  hiin.     And  Ijoth  the.se 


monks  said  (but  it  might  have  been 
fancy)  that  just  before  dawn  there 
came  three  light  taps  against  the  wall, 
one  after  another,  very  slow ;  and  the 
dying  man  heard  them  and  said,  "  I 
come,  love,  I  come." 

This  much  is  certain,  that  Gerard 
did  utter  these  words  and  prepare  for 
his  departure,  having  uttered  them. 
He  sent  for  all  the  monks  who  at  that 
hour  were  keeping  vigil.  They  came 
and  hovered  like  gentle  spirits  round 
him  with  holy  words.  Some  prayed 
in  silence  for  him,  with  their  faces 
touching  the  ground,  others  tenderly 
sujjported  his  head.  But  when  one 
of  them  said  something  about  his  life 
of  self-denial  and  charity,  he  stopped 
him,  and  addressing  them  all  said : 
"  My  dear  brethren,  take  note  that 
he  who  here  dies  so  iiappy  holds  not 
these  new-fangldl  doctrines  of  man's 
merit.  O  what  a  miserable  hour 
were  this  to  me  an  if  I  did !  Nay,  but 
I  hold  with  tlie  Apostles,  and  their 
pupils  in  the  Church,  the  ancient  fa- 
thers, that '  we  are  justified,  not  by  our 
own  wisdom,  or  piety,  or  the  works 
we  have  done  in  holiness  of  heart,  but 
by  faith.'  "  * 

Then  there  was  a  silence,  and  the 
monks  looked  at  one  another  signifi- 
cantly. 

"  Please  you  sweep  the  floor,"  said 
the  dying  Christian,  inavoice  to  which 
all  its  clearness  and  force  seemed  su- 
pernaturally  restored. 

They  instantly  obeyed,  not  without 
a  sentiment  of  awe  and  curiosity. 

"  Make  me  a  great  cross  with  wood 
ashes." 

They  strewed  the  ashes  in  form  of 
a  great  cross  upon  the  floor. 

"  Now  lay  me  down  on  it;  for  so 
will  I  die." 

And  they  took  him  gently  from  his 
bed,  and  laid  him  on  the  cross  of  wood 
ashes. 

"Shall  we  spread  out  thine  arms, 
dear  brother  1 " 

*  He  was  citing  from  Clement  of  Rome,  — 

Ov    Sc    eavTuif   SiKaiovtxe6a     ovSe    Sia    7^79 

li/terepat    tro^ia?,    )j  eutre^eia;,    r]  epyov    Civ 

KareipyaaaiiiOa  €v  octiott/ti  «ap5ia5,  aAAa  6ta 

Tijt  TTiarewi. — Ejiist.  ad  Corintli.,  i.  32. 


438 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  Now  God  forbid  ! 

of  that  1  " 


Am  I  worthy 


lie  lay  silent,  but  with  his  eyes 
raised  in  ecstasy. 

Presently  he  spoke  half  to  them, 
half  to  himself.  "  O,"  he  said,  with  a 
Hubdned  but  concentrated  ra[iture,  "I 
feel  it  buoyant.  It  lifts  me  tloatin;;  in 
the  sky  whence  my  merits  had  sunk 
mc  like  lead." 

Day  broke  ;  an<l  disj)Iayed  his  face 
cost  upward  in  silent  rapture,  and  his 
hands  toj;ether  ;  like  Marj^aret's. 

And  just  about  the  hour  she  died  he 
si)oke  his  last  word  in  this  world. 

"  Jesu  !" 

And  even  with  that  word  —  he  fell 
asleep. 

They  laid  him  out  for  his  last  rest- 
ing-]) I  ace. 

Under  his  linen  they  found  a  horse- 
hair shirt. 

"Ah!"  cried  the  young  monks, 
"behold  a  saint !  " 

Under  the  kair-cloth  they  found  a 
long  thick  tress  of  auburn  liair. 

They  started,  and  were  horrified  ; 
and  a  babel  of  voices  arose,  some  con- 
demning, some  excusing. 

In  the  miilst  of  which  Jerome  came 
in,  and,  hcai-ing  the  dispute,  turned  to 
an  ardent  young  monk  called  Basil, 
who  was  crying  .>;candal  the  loudest. 
"  Basil,"  said  lie,  "  is  she  alive  or  dead 
that  owned  this  hair  ?  " 

"  How  nniy  I  know,  father?  " 

"  Then  for  aught  you  know  it  may 
be  the  relic  of  a  saint  i  " 

"  Certes  it  may  be,"  said  Basil,  scep- 
tically. 

"\ou  have  then  broken  our  rule, 
which  saith,  '  I'ut  ill  construction  on 
no  act  done  by  a  brother  which  can  be 
construed  innocently.'  Who  arc  you 
to  jndgc  such  a  man  as  this  Avas  1  go 
to  your  cell,  and  stir  not  out  for  a 
week  by  way  of  penance." 

He  then  carried  otf  the  lock  of 
hair. 

And,  when  the  coffin  was  to  be 
closed,  he  cleared  the  cell  ;  and  put 
the  trcds  upon  the  dead  man's  bosom. 


"  There,  Clement,  "  said  he  to  the 
dead  face.  And  set  himself  a  jKiiancc 
for  doing  it;  and  nailed  the  coflin  up 
himself 

The  next  day  Gerard  was  buried 
in  (iinida  churchyard.  The  monk:* 
followed  him  in  procession  from  the 
convent.  .Jerome,  who  was  evident- 
ly carrying  out  the  wishes  of  the  de- 
cea.sed,  read  the  service.  The  grave 
was  a  deep  one,  and  at  the  bottom  ol 
it  was  a  lead  coffin.  I'oor  (Jerard's, 
light  as  a  feather  (so  wasted  was  he), 
was  lowered,  and  placed  by  the  side 
of  it. 

After  the  service  Jerome  said  a  few 
words  to  the  crowd  of  ])arishioner!» 
that  had  cunie  to  take  the  last  look  at 
their  best  friend.  When  he  spoke  o( 
the  virtues  of  the  departed,  loud  wail- 
ing and  weeping  burst  forth,  and  tcan 
fell  upon  the  coffin  like  rain. 

The  monks  went  home.  Jeromo 
collected  them  in  the  nUciory  and 
si)oke  to  them  thuu:  "We  linve  tliis 
day  laid  a  saint  in  the  earth.  '1  lio 
convent  will  keep  his  trcntals,  but 
will  feast,  not  fast;  for  our  good 
brother  is  fieed  from  the  burden  of 
the  (lesh  ;  his  lalxjrs  are  over,  and  he 
has  entered  into  his  joyful  rest.  I 
alone  shall  fast,  and  do  fKinitencc ; 
for  to  my  shame,  I  say  it,  I  was  un- 
just to  him,  and  knew  not  his  worth, 
till  it  was  too  late.  And  yon,  young 
monks,  be  not  curious  to  incjuire 
whether  a  lock  he  bore  on  his  bosom 
was  a  token  of  pure  affection,  or  the 
relic  of  a  saint ;  but  remember  the 
heart  he  wore  beneath ;  most  of  all, 
fix  your  eyes  upon  his  life  and  con- 
versation ;  and  follow  them  an  ye 
may  :  for  he  was  a  holy  man." 

Thus  after  life's  fitful  fever  these 
two  lovers  were  at  peace.  The  grave, 
kinder  to  them  than  the  Church,  unit- 
ed them  forever ;  and  now  a  man  of 
another  age  and  nation,  touched  with 
their  fate,  has  labored  to  build  their 
tombstone,  and  rescue  them  from  long 
and  unmerited  oblivion. 

lie  asks  for  them  your  8>-mpathy, 
but  not  your  pity. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


439 


"No,  put  thi8  story  to  a  -wholesome 

nse. 

Fiction  must  often  give  false  views 
of  life  and  death.  Here  as  it  happens, 
curbed  hy  history,  she  jjives  you  true 
ones.  Let  the  barrier  that  kept  these 
true  lovers  apart  prepare  you  for  this, 
that  here  on  earth  there  will  always 
be  some  obstacle  or  other  to  your  per- 
fect happiness;  to  their  early  death 
apply  your  Reason  and  your  Faith, 
by  way  of  exercise  and  preparation. 
For  if  you  cannot  bear  to  be  told  that 
these  died  young,  who,  had  they  lived 
a  hundred  years,  would  still  be  dead, 
how  shall  you  bear  to  see  the  gentle, 
the  loving,  and  the  true  glide  from 
your  own  bosom  to  the  grave,  and  Hy 
from  your  house  to  heaven? 

Yet  this  is  in  store  for  you.  In 
every  age  the  Master  of  life  and  death, 
who  is  kinder  as  well  as  wiser  than 
we  are,  has  transplanted  to  heaven, 
young,  earth's  sweetest  Howers. 

I  ask  your  sympathy  then  ;  for 
their  rare  constancy,  and  pure  affec- 
tion, and  their  cruel  separation  by  a 
vile  heresy  *  in  the  bosom  of  the 
Church  ;  but  not  your  pity  for  their 
early,  but  liappy  end. 

Beati  sunt  qui  in  Domino  raoriun- 
tur. 


CHAPTER  C. 

In  compliance  with  a  custom  I  de- 
spise, but  have  not  the  spirit  to  resist, 
I  linger  on  the  stage  to  pick  up  the 
smaller  fragments  of  humanity  I  have 
scattered  about :  i.  e.  some  of  them, 
for  the  wayside  characters  have  no 
claim  on  me  ;  they  have  served  their 
turn  if  they  have  persuaded  the  reader 
that  Gerard  travelled  from  Holland 
to  Rome  through  human  beings,  and 
not  through  a  population  of  dolls. 

Eli  and  Catherine  lived  to  a  great 
age :  lived  so  long  that  both  Gerard 
and  Margaret  grew  to  be  dim  memo- 
ries. Giles  also  was  longevous  ;  he 
went  to  the  court  of  Bavaria,  and  was 

*  Celibacy  of  the  Clergy,  an  iaventlon  truly 
fieiuliili. 


alive  there  at  ninety,  but  had  somehow 
turned  into  bones  and  leather,  trum- 
pet-toned. 

Cornelis,  free  from  all  rivals,  and 
forgiven  long  ago  by  his  mother,  who 
clung  to  him  more  and  more  now 
all  her  brood  was  scattered,  waited, 
and  waited,  and  waited,  for  his  par- 
ents' decease.  But  Catherine's  shrewd 
word  came  true  :  ere  she  and  her  mate 
wore  out,  this  worthy  rusted  away. 

At  sixty-tive  he  lay  dying  of  old  age 
in  his  mother's  arms,  a  hale  woman 
of  eighty-six.  He  had  lain  uncon- 
scious awhile  ;  but  came  to  himself 
ill  articulo  mortis,  and,  seeing  her  near 
him,  told  her  how  he  would  transform 
the  shop  and  premises  as  soon  as  they 
should  be  his.  "  Yes,  my  darling," 
said  tlie  poor  old  woman,  soothingly  ; 
and  in  another  minute  he  was  clay  : 
and  that  clay  was  followed  to  the 
grave  by  all  the  feet  whose  shoes  he 
had  waited  for. 

Denys,  broken-hearted  at  his  com- 
rade's death,  was  glad  to  return  to 
Burgundy,  and  there  a  small  pension 
the  court  allowed  him  kept  him  until 
unexpectedly  he  inherited  a  consider- 
able sum  from  a  relation.  He  was 
known  in  his  native  place  for  many 
years  as  a  crusty  old  soldier,  who 
could  tell  good  stories  of  war,  when 
he  chose  ;  and  a  bitter  railer  against 
women. 

Jerome,  disgusted  with  northern 
laxity,  retired  to  Italy,  and,  having 
high  connections,  became  at  seventy  a 
mitred  abbot.  He  put  on  the  screw 
of  discipline :  his  monks  revered  and 
hated  him.  He  ruled  with  iron  rod 
ten  years.  And  one  night  he  died, 
alone ;  for  he  had  not  found  the  way 
to  a  single  heart.  The  Vulgate  was 
his  pillow,  and  the  crucifix  in  his  hand, 
and  on  his  lips  something  more  like  a 
smile  than  was  ever  seen  there  while 
he  lived ;  so  that,  methinks,  at  that 
awful  hour  he  was  not  quite  alone. 
Requiescat  in  pace.  The  Master  he 
sened  has  many  servants,  and  they 
have  many  minds,  and  now  and  then 
a  faithful  one  will  be  a  surly  one,  as 
it  is  in  these  our  mortal  mansions. 


440 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


The  ycllow-haircd  laddie,  Gerard 
Gerardson,  belongs  not  to  Fiction,  l)Ut 
to  History.  JShe  has  recorded  his  birth 
in  other  terms  tlian  mine.  Over  the 
tailor's  house  in  the  IJrede  Kirk  Straet 
she  has  inscribed  :  — 

II(rr  est  jxirca  doinus  nattis  qua  mag- 
nus  Erasmus ; 

and  she  has  written  half  a  dozen  lives 
of  him.  But  there  is  soniethinjx  more 
left  for  her  yet  to  do.  She  ha.s  no 
more  comprehended  maf^nuni  Eras- 
Hium,  than  any  other  pygmy  conipre- 
bonds  a  giant,  or  ))artisan  a  judge. 

First  scholar  and    divine    of   his 


epoch,  he  was  also  the  heaven-bom 
dramatist  of  his  century.  Some  of 
the  best  scenes  in  this  new  book  are 
from  his  mediiKval  jK-n,  and  illumine 
the  pages  where  they  come ;  for  the 
words  of  a  genius  so  high  as  his  arc 
not  born  to  die ;  their  immediate 
work  upon  mankind  fultilled,  they 
may  seem  to  lie  tor])id  ;  but,  at  eacli 
fresh  shower  of  intelligence  Time 
jKuirs  upon  their  students,  they  ])rovc 
their  immortal  race :  they  revive, 
they  spring  from  the  dust  of  great  li- 
braries ;  they  bud,  they  flower,  they 
fruit,  tiicy  seed,  from  generation  to 
generation,  and  from  aye  to  age. 


THS    END. 


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riCroKIAL  FIKM)  BOOK  OF  THK  WAK  OF  1h|2:  or, 
Illuiiration*  bv  I'eii  and  I'eiicil  of  iho  Hittorv,  Hio|;raphj, 
Scenery,  Kelica,  and  Tradition*  of  the  la«t  War  for  Aincriran  In- 
dependence. \\y  Baxaost  J.  I.oaaixo.  8to,  Cloth,  $7  00; 
Sheep  or  Hoan,  $H  M,   Half  Cnlf,  $10  00. 

ENGMSH  M1.N  OF  LK1TKR.S.  I<:.lite<l  br  Jouj,  Moiiibt. 
The  followinR  roliiinc*  arc  now  ready  : 

joMwxr      »»y  K  Strplipo  — (;iaao!i.     Br  J  C   llnrtwin  -••mTT      !lr  II  H 
II'i  r.T      Hy  J   A   Sjrmon<l«.  -  «;oLi>««irn      Wj  W  M    hb. 

|i>  »l«<y  — I»«r..«.      Ily  W   Uinlo  -  Hi  a.^a      »>  rpi 

-;..     >   R.  W   Church  -TMACBKa«T      Hjr  A.  Tmllui .       ...  „^<.      Ujr 

J  Morley  —  MiLTu«.  Hy  U  l"mHuon  —  S>i-ni«T  Hy  K  Ih>«i|en.— rBArcc» 
Hy  A.  W  Ward.— Hi-HTili  Hy  J  A  Kroudc  — Cowria  HyU  .*<inith.— I'ora 
Hy  X-  Stephen —Urao!)  Hy  J  Nichola  —  l.iK-aa  Hy  T  I'nwUr  —  Woana- 
woarii  Hy  V  W.  H.  Myera  —  tUvTnoaaa  Hy  Henry  JaniM,  Jr.  — Oaf- 
ois.  Hy  G  SamUbury.  —  I^.iooa  Hy  S.  iolrio  — I>r  ',■  -  r-  Vjr  (>  ||m. 
•on  — I.A»a     Hy  A.  Ainger  — Hamar      Hy  K.  C   J  v     Hy  A. 

W.  Ward  — Gb*t.    Hy  fc  W  Coiuo  — J^wirr     Hy  1.  M  -a     Hy  II. 

I>  Traill. —MAt'*ci_iT  By  J  C.  MorUoo.— FiBLOisti  Hy  A  iMbaoa — 
SiiBHiDA^.  Hy  Mra  OliphaoC  — AoDiaoa.  Hy  W.  J  Courtbop*  — Bacos  Bf 
R  W.  thurch  — CoLBBiiHja  By  U.  D  TrailL— Sia  pMiur  8ii>5Bt.  By  J  A. 
SymoDda— Kbats.     Hy  S.  CoWla.     13mo,  Clolb,  75  c«dU  p«r  roluma 

Popular  Edition.  36  volnmcsin  12,  Cloth,  $12  00;  Half  Leath- 
er, $21   00. 

HISTORY  OFTHK  INtjlISITION  OF  THK  MIDDLE  AGES. 
By  Henbt  Chaulks  Lka.  3  voU.,  8vo,  Cloth,  Uncut  Edges  and 
Gilt  Tops,  $3  00  per  roL 


THE   LIHR  \R\ 
IMVIRSITV   OI    (  AlllOKN 
Santa  Barbara 


mis  iu)()K  IS  1)1  i:  ON   mil  i  vm   dvii 

STAMPED  BELOW. 


